My husband, Danny, and I walk into the movie theater. With popcorn in one hand and his arm in my other, we climb the stairs, and claim our seats: right in the middle. Perfect position.
Frozen. I’ve been excited for this movie for what seems life forever. And right now, it’s starting. The characters are introduced, two princess: Elsa, and Ana (I am completely guessing on this spelling, and it’s pronounced the same as my name! Happy day.) We watch the movie, and I am fascinated by this new character, Ana. Between her klutziness and her musical ability, I have a new role model.
“Danny,” I whisper. “When I grow up, I’m going to be Princess Ana.” He chuckles a bit, then turns his attention back to the movie. Maybe he thinks it strange that a 20 something year old is saying “When I grow up,” but I was 100 percent serious.
After the movie, Danny and I decide to keep our bowl of half-eaten popcorn. (The popcorn at a movie theater is basically the only reason I’m ok with spending an outrageous amount of money for two hours of entertainment.)
As we exit the theater, goosebumps run up and own my arms. Teeth chattering, I silently curse the cold. I hate the cold. But after a moment of glancing around me, my mind changes. I hate the cold, but it’s worth it to see the beauty of light shining on snowflakes as they tumble to the ground. The serenity in the atmosphere makes me feel as if I were in a snowglobe.
Danny runs three steps. One, two three, then allows himself to slide on the glistening snow. My mood changes from sentimental, to playful. With three strides, in boots with relatively no traction, I might add, I glide up next to my husband, allowing a small squeak to escape my throat.
I grab his hand and take of running, pulling him behind me. It soon turns into a race. I win. Of course. Partly because Danny waits to get my door. Admittedly, without this bit of chivalry, it would have been a close call. Our green car, when we arrive, is entirely covered in snow. I snatch the keys from Danny, and hurry to escape into the warmth of the car. The leather seats made my mission impossible. Warmth was not to be found on these cold leather seats.
Arriving home, I spy the layer of snow out on the sidewalk. Grinning, I try the gliding-thing again. The blue popcorn bowl stays in my right hand, while my purse stays draped over my right shoulder. I dash, begin to slide. . . and then stumble. The snow isn’t thick enough, slick enough, not something enough, for me to glide, and I end up staggering to avoid myself sprawled on the wet snow. I end up on our front porch, several feet in front of Danny.
Dismayed, I whip around to express my disappointment to Danny.
From the corner of my eyeball, I notice something. The popcorn, in the blue popcorn bowl, is slanted upwards, like a hill. It wasn’t that way when I exited the car. I glance at the ground. To my astonishment, somewhere around 20 popcorn kernels lie on the ground. All over my new welcome mat.
Half- horrified, and half-thrilled, at the mess I made, I stand frozen, (ha! no pun intended) waiting for Danny’s reaction time. After one second of no reaction from him, my laugh rings out.
“Danny!” I cry, pretending to be heartbroken from the popcorn I could no longer eat. “The popcorn!” In reality, I am thrilled. I think it’s hilarious.
This time he releases a real laugh. He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me in close to him. “Oh, Anna,” he sighs, shaking his head.
As I look back on this memory, I think about what I wanted in the beginning. I wanted to be someone else. Why is it we, as humans, and (may I add) especially girls, want to be someone else? hai like hers, funny like him, good at math like that one random person in your class?
I’m not suggesting that improvement is bad. By all means, study for that stupid math test. But don’t be someone you’re not. Instead, be a better version of you. No snowflake is made the same. Why should we, as humans, as children of God, think that being someone else could ever be better than being you?
