Hitting the bed last night, I reminded my husband that my life is the envy of three of the biggest stars in our culture. Certainly, this brought around his interest. "Huh?" he queried.
I explained:
In August 1958, four stars were born. Madonna, Michael Jackson, Sharon Stone and ... well ... me. We all know why the first three are considered iconic. Michael was in another orbit, though when we were both kids (Michael and I) my dad assured me that his singing fame would be fleeting. As soon as his hit puberty, he assured, his career would be over.
Message: study your Algebra.
But last night, I explained that I have what those four have only dreamed of having, and have suffered for its lack.
I have loved the same person for 32 years and he still loves me back. We have two beautiful children from that union and (most of the time) they love us back, too. I attended the college of my choice. I got a degree in a field that I love. In my paid work, I am privileged to, every day, help vulnerable people. in my volunteer work, I have been even luckier to do more of the same.
My life? My ordinary life? That's the real Thriller.