Last year I wrote about which superpower I might want were I to be exposed to an origin story. It appears both my thoughts and assessment of the ethical dilemma I faced were too small. I am Superman.
Last Friday was my wife and I’s fifth wedding anniversary.
I cook on Fridays anyway and am more likely to do something fancy for the end of the week, so – subtle nuances of wine and menu choice aside – we did not celebrate. Nicki was heading off to a Brownie camp on Saturday morning, so much of her time was spent with last-minute packing.
But we might not have done anything different if her evening had been free.
Because our wedding was not “the happy day”, it was one of a myriad before, during, and since.
Because, like the good author I am, I do not just tell my wife I love her once, I try to show her throughout the story.
Because, to say one day a year is special, implies the others don’t need to be.
Which is how I discovered I am Superman.
There are choices that, had I made differently, might have resulted in parts of my life being objectively more successful: having more success at work; not being mugged. But this moment is the sum of those choices, and changing any of them could also have resulted in not being married to Nicki for the past five years. So I do not wish to change any of them.
And, as students of philosophy might already know, Nietzche’s definition of the Superman is someone who, given their life again, would not change their choices.
So, I’m the kind of Superman who can’t fly, but I’m also the kind who isn’t in a Fortress of Solitude.