The Polar Express

A Heart Ten Times too Small

There's a few defining moments in life where a person must examine the inner most parts of themselves and decide whether or not to expose the vulnerability and insecurities buried, whether deliberately or not, by their own conscious, to their own selves. On that fateful night in San Francisco, standing freezing cold underneath an impossible snow cloud with a huge industrial train parked on my front lawn, I had one of those moments.  A curt concatenation that challenged my entire concept of reality, along with my entire notion of who I was as a person, occurred within a matter of seconds. Ahead of me, my sister waited for me to join her and ride on a parapsychological beast of metal, and behind me held my warm, cozy home padded with my family, delicious cookies and ample Christmas presents.  

Of course the only logical thing for a girl to do was pinch herself.

But when that didn't work, I had to ask myself whether I was the kind of girl to go an adventure. Of course every person believes that they have what it takes to be the hero or explorer in a movie situation like this. Growing up, how many times had I read books about wizards and witches that defeat evil warlocks, or watched movies about every day people gaining superpowers and saving the city from every sort of vicious villain? Every time I would imagine myself in their shoes and would convince myself that I had what it takes to defend my family and friends if needed. In reality, there was always a part of me that knew I was lying to myself.

I was not the kind of girl to go on an adventure. I was always the last one to cross the finish line during the mile run at school. I was always the last one to come up with a witty response in a bickering battle with my sisters. I was always the last one to impress my mom when it came to anything- I couldn't pass my drivers test with a 100% like Cydney- I couldn't draw amazingly lifelike pictures like Carley, and I would never be able to learn the guitar and piano in a matter of weeks like my prodigy sister Chelsey. 

So seconds before I made that fateful decision that night- whether to board the mysterious glacial machinery, or to run back home to call 911 and claim a creepy mustached man kidnapped my sister, I asked myself a question rooted in my deepest insecurities:

Was I special enough?

The answer was undoubtedly no. Why? Because magic isn't real. I don't believe in it because it has never existed for me, and its made me bitter my entire life. 

Call me Grinch but I was running back to that house faster then you could say "Happy holidays and a good year to you!"