Superwoman Can't Fly

Thursday night I attended my first Toastmasters Club meeting. One of the presentations was a humorous one-man skit



called "Superman Can't Fly," in which the speaker revisited a scene from his childhood. As a nine-year-old, he donned a Superman cape that he believed would make him fly, jumped off a picnic table, and (you guessed it) fell flat on his face. He had discovered that superman (with a small s) can't fly.

Neither can superwoman.

When I was younger, I had a low self-image. I wasn't pretty or popular, and I stunk at sports. I'm convinced the only reason I didn't fail physical education was because the teacher took pity on my efforts. And my academic performance (which put me near the top of my class) was just a minor achievement in my eyes because my brothers' grades were even better.

Then I went to law school and learned that the secret to excelling was to discover what I did well and put my energies there. As my law career gave me confidence, my low self-esteem turned into pride. Somewhere along the way I forgot that everyone has different strengths and that we are all equal when looking at the bigger picture.

This has been a frustrating week as I dealt with other people's mistakes in areas where I excel. My ego kept telling me I would have done it right, and I would have. But my pride turns "I would have done a better job on this particular task" into "I'm better." And I'm not.

It would do my ego good to remember that I would still be a coach's nightmare as a player (although I'm a good spectator). And that my drawing is so bad that you wouldn't even recognize the human form if I didn't use stick figures.

The old adage says that pride goes before a fall. I haven't taken a tumble yet this week, but I'm waiting for it.

Because sometimes I need to be reminded that superwoman can't fly.