Every day has a beach that is filled with unlimited potential

“What is your super power?” is a popular question these days. When my teen grandson asked what super power I wanted I said the ability to talk to animals. Which he thought was wasted unless I used it to control the animals — get them to do what I wanted.

There is someone I can control get to do what I want — and that is myself. Except it doesn’t always go as I envision. That man of great faith, the Apostle Paul, said, “… for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not.”

I’ve concluded the greatest super power is the power of choice. It stretches before me like the Alaska beach along Cook Inlet where I walked last month picking up rocks. I was there for prized agates, but I could choose other interesting stones — or ones that seemed nothing special at all.

I packed them all home in my carry on. Eight-and-a-half pounds of rocks. Over-the-top ridiculous to some members of my family. But I had a reason. Our daughter in another state had mentioned she’d always wanted a rock polisher. I planned to order her a tumbler and mail via flat rate these particular rocks to get her started — rocks from Alaska, where she grew up.

The analogy is this. Each day has its beach filled with potential choices. They are mine to select. Some are going to be spectacular and others mediocre, and still others cutting. I carry the weight of them with me. And someone — besides me — is most likely on the receiving end of those choices.

A few weeks ago I wrote of two men — one from antiquity and one present day — who in the course of their lives repeatedly misused their power of choice, causing suffering — and both ended by taking their lives. Our capacity to choose holds the power of life and death.

Choice isn’t only about actions — it occupies thoughts and words and attitudes. A paraplegic man, when asked how he could stay positive without the use of his legs replied, “How can you be negative when you have both of yours?”

What I respect about choice is while I may not be able to cast away choices I wish I hadn’t made, like I could those rocks on the beach, I have the power — the super power — to choose anew. To make my next choice — and the choice beyond that — all the way down the beach — one I want to keep.