Sitting Upon the Throne

When I think of my heroes, my idols, not many come to mind. I have many people I admire, many people whose traits, accomplishments and ideas I would love to mimic in order to make my own, but heroes? Those people are just...unnatural. They seem so beyond my reach. I am not a god, and I don't really aspire to be one, but all the people that would be worthy of the title 'hero' they're all gods.

I am not a god.

I'm not smart enough to be a god. I'm not physically fit enough. I'm not ambitious enough. (What else are heroes supposed to be?) Oh, I'm not that good with witty banter! Even if I did have super powers I don't even know that I'd be agile enough to want to practice them. I barely use the muscles (brain muscles, too) I have now which apparently have the potential to do awesome things!

Then I sat on the toilet.

Haha. I know. When I titled this blog post 'sitting on the throne' you probably weren't thinking of its slang definition.

So, I sat on the toilet and thought, "WAIT A SECOND!- all my heroes are human. All humans have to go potty. And if they don't go potty they're covering up their BM problem!"

If there is any time when a person is simultaneously physically and mentally vulnerable it would be when he is sitting upon the throne. I don't think I need to explain why. I hope I don't need to explain why.

I mean, think about it. All your heroes have to go to the bathroom.

Iron Man has to go to the bathroom.

The Hulk has to go to the bathroom.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have to go to the bathroom.

Aang had to go to the bathroom.

Do Thor and Loki have to go to the bathroom? Do actual gods have to go to the bathroom?

The Capitol forces themselves to go to the bathroom so they can just eat and drink more.

But who likes to think of heroes, or regular people for that matter, going to the bathroom? That's so nasty. And yet, we all go. What else do we all do?

What was it Watson told Sherlock? "People want to know you're human."

Because as great and different as our heroes are, they wouldn't be considered heroes if they're...followers?- couldn't relate to them. An un-relatable hero is a dictator. We don't like dictators. So, yeah, now that I know my heroes are as human as I am (except for Thor and Loki) I have to discover what they did differently from those who aren't heroes.

Oh. Heroes who often appear or give speeches full of hope, love, peace and happiness were probably without, or had at one point doubted, hope, love, peace, happiness only to have it thrust back into their faces. Heroes can be made. Heroes can be unmade. Heroes can be shy or obnoxious. They can be anyone.

'In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto, "Anyone can cook." But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere.' -from Disney's Ratatouille

Sit on that throne.

"You're just saying that!"

A couple days ago I finally got my haircut, and since then I've received many compliments.

"Super cute haircut, really!"

"Oh! It's so different from what you had before! I love it!"

"So, you got a haircut? Oh. Looks nice."

Before the haircut I had my hair up in a ponytail and when my hair dresser took that first big snip my head suddenly felt ten times lighter. I bet I could jump off a building and start flying, if I really wanted to. I'll let you know how that turns out my next blog post.

But I'll be honest, I was kind of nervous about my new haircut. I've had it short before, yes, but not this short (it's a pixie cut). A barrage of self-consciousness thoughts invaded my mind palace (wink wink); I was suddenly worried if my face were too round, if I picked the right color hair dye or what if I was the only one that liked my haircut? For me, long hair is such a security blanket, and now that it's all so short I have nothing  to hide behind.

Right after my haircut I had work and one of my coworkers said to me: "When you walked into the break room I only saw the back of your head and thought, "Who is this person?" but then you turned around!- very nice! Is that a shade of red I see?"

And the only polite way to respond is, "Thank you."

Yet however much I consciously believe the compliments something rather subconscious (therefore deadly, thank you, Freud) tells me that these compliments aren't true. I mean, what else are these people supposed to say?

"So, you got a haircut? You want me to go get a paper bag with eye holes because that cut and color are offensive."

My subconscious screams, "They're just being nice! They don't want to hurt your feelings!"

My conscious will almost always submit to my subconscious...BUT NOT THIS TIME!

Whatever niceties my coworkers, family or friends give me I need to remember their sincerity...sincerities. (I'm a slave to parallelism.) My modesty and humility need not become false. There is a difference between accepting compliments and expecting compliments.

I'm no Helen of Troy (what do I want a thousand ships for?), but I'm also certainly not one of the Twits. Whatever beauty I do possess is kept in check by the occasional pimple or pair of jeans that shrunk folded up in the dresser drawer, a reminder that beauty needs to be preserved.

In the same way I catch the log in my eye before I poke out the speck in your eye, I need to remember my own beauty, my own value, before I can remember your beauty and value. After all, we are human: beautiful in our ordinariness.

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