One of my earliest memories takes me to a beach in Maine.

I’m with my family.

I’m around four years old.

I look to the sky over the ocean. It’s getting late in the afternoon.

There’s something colorful up in the sky. I learn that it’s called a box kite. I’d never seen one before. I wonder how it flies.

I watch it float, dive and rise. Mostly is just hangs above the ocean, far away from its pilots – another family down the beach.

Something about the kite makes me want to feel my power.

 

Sitting on the beach, I lift my hand to the sky and create scissors with my two fingers.

I can’t even see the kite string, it’s so far away. But I snip.

Once. Twice. Three times.

And the kite flies free. I did it.

I DID IT!

I don’t remember anything about the kite-flying-family’s reaction.

I am too much in love with my power to create and their business is not my business.

I watch the kite rise higher in the sky and deeper over the ocean.

Buzzing, I tell my siblings of my power. No one seems to believe me or pays much attention.

But I know…

 

I discovered my power that day. Or rather, I remembered my power that day.

Four decades later,  I still remember that box kite because it was a Moment of Knowing.

Pure Knowing.

 

Sometimes I temporarily forget my power. In this, I am not alone.

During those times, I see myself as the untethered box kite, a passenger to the whims of the winds.

But eventually I remember… Eventually I look down upon my trusty, powerful scissor fingers.

And when I do, I see it… I see the thin white kite string wound around my hand. Around and around.

The string is always in my hand, even when I forget it’s there.

 

In fact, I think I forget sometimes for the simple reason that it feels so thrilling to remember.

Because every time I remember, I am four years old.

On a beach. In Maine…