I was doing the dishes yesterday, washing a spoon. There was a pile still to be washed, stacked next to the sink. I had my favorite Pandora station playing.
I had so much else to do: bathroom to clean, the apartment to sweep, the table to clear off. I’m having people over for Thanksgiving. Two days left to get it all done!
And I was fiercely, deeply thankful for all of it: the dishes to be done, the work I wanted to get done, the housecleaning. The chance to listen to some music. The apartment, the job.
Sunday night I watched Black Panther for the first time since I saw it in theaters. I adored it–Shuri was a delight, the costumes and sets were just as beautiful as I remembered and the music just as wonderful, T’Challa was a good hero. Every single character inspired me with their dedication; Killmonger’s pain simply bled off the screen.
A few days before that, I finished watching season 3 of Supergirl. It’s a bit dumb and repetitive, but I love Kara. I love watching her struggle to do what’s right, love watching her be strong and learn how to be strong. She’s so much more human than Superman.
This is the most superhero media I’ve consumed in a long time. Man, I used to love that stuff: love the adventure of it, the drama, the high stakes and the battles. The fight of good against evil, played out on my television screen–it was cartoons, back then, but I could watch that forever.
I would imagine what it would be like, to fight–to never need to fear–to save the world.
But now–I am so thankful for my non-superhero life. I am perfectly content to not have the entire world depending on me. I love having an apartment, a pile of dishes that needs to be done and an even bigger pile of books I’d like to read, work to finish. I would take that life over that of a superhero any day.