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.
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…