Episode Two: SWFSFW (Single White Female Searching For Wardrobe)

About a year ago I found myself nestled in a dingy little campus housing unit designed for Graduate Students.  Despite becoming a Quarantine for students with the H1N1 virus (forgetting the regular, healthy building tenants), it was a decent apartment.  There was a small door underneath one of the staircases, and one time I did find it unlocked.  To my dismay it did not lead to C. S. Lewis's Narnia...

Thankfully it did not lead to Detroit either- just a broom closet.

Like many I have thirsted since I was a little girl to find that magical doorway to another world- a world of adventure, magic, beauty, and heroism.  My parents owned a waterbed when I was a child which sported a large wooden frame, and at the bottom there were two doors.  I used to crawl through those doors into the space beneath the bed.  Time after time, the same hope- but to no avail.  No magical worlds.

I have searched for magic lamps, fairy godmothers, special doors, and four leaf clovers since I was able to walk.  But what is it about the magical that is so fascinating?  For those of you who are still anxiously awaiting your Hogwarts letter at the age of 35, eyed suspiciously your wedding ring for any potential Mount Doom day trips, or have written nasty letters to NIMH about their mistreatment of Nicodemus- you may be able to relate.

I suppose it is because it is so hard to derive meaning from the everyday, from the mundane.  It is not hard to see the purpose behind epic battles between good and evil.  In the worlds of fiction the fate of the world/kingdom/your friends hinges upon your ability to rise against the odds with courage and determination.  In the office your heroics beside the copy maker have gone unnoticed...

In fact, no one has sung accolades of the way you braved the perilous journey known as "commute", nor have statues been carved in your likeness for your triumph over your alarm clock.  You get up, you work, you get off, you sleep, and it begins again.

Truth be told we need to bridge the disconnect between our daily toils and the bigger picture.  In all honesty some things really are pointless.  None the less, this world is what we make of it.  So there are a few less centaurs and dragons than could be... but we are the masters of our fate whether we choose to pursue it or not.  Maybe we won't be dueling a Hydra anytime soon, but our greatest prison is our dependence on the familiar, on the reliable.  Risk is the great Genii of the Universe- it may grant you your heart's desire or it may cost you everything.

As for this single, white female searching for my wardrobe, well... I shall just be contented to curl up with a good book and a warm cup of coffee.