How To Be A Superhero
It’s about pushing boundaries and exploring the edges of what’s possible. Leaning into the stories that ought to be true. And going to your limits, simply for the joy of it.
Put me in front of a movie on an airplane, and I will probably cry. Pretty much any movie will do. It doesn’t even really matter what it’s about — I am virtually guaranteed to get emotional (often, embarrassingly so). International flights, especially, are total tear-jerkers. There’s just something about being suspended in the air, magically elevated above the clouds, in the liminal space between departure and arrival gates in distant lands, that transports me to some kind of thin emotional terrain that I can’t explain. And apparently, I’m not the only one: This American Life did an episode on this phenomenon a while ago. Listening to it, I felt both validated and intrigued.
Usually, whatever mysterious emotional vibes exist in high-altitude airplane cabins seem to dissipate by the time the plane touches down, and I end up with a giant wad of crumpled tissues and a vague sense of self-consciousness at having just cried through Anchorman or 27 Dresses. Whatever deep life lesson or sentimental movie moment triggered my over-the-top emotional response on the flight somehow loses its power on the ground. Most of the time, that is.
Once, on a plane from London to Chicago, I watched a movie called Batkid Begins. It’s this documentary about a five-year-old boy with leukemia, his dream to become Batman, and how the Make-A-Wish Foundation joined forces with the city of San Francisco to make it happen. In other words, the perfect recipe for a full-on mid-flight breakdown.
This one was different, though. It stuck with me after I stepped off the plane. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
The essence of Batkid Begins is an exploration of the “why” behind the spontaneous, passionate public outpouring of support for a kid named Miles and his superhero dreams. In the film, a Make-A-Wish director reaches out to city officials, looking for ways to make Miles’ wish come true. As they begin working together, the idea rapidly takes on a life of its own and unintentionally goes viral, with first dozens and then thousands of people sharing the story and jumping in to devise an increasingly elaborate experience for Miles to realize his Batman fantasies as fully as possible. They recreate Gotham City in downtown San Francisco, recruit the city’s police and fire squads and their vehicles, and outfit and choreograph an entire cast of superhero partners. As the day unfolds in real time, there are villains on the loose, a damsel in distress, and a growing Twitter-fueled crowd on the street, cheering as they take part in the dramatic series of events and plead “Save us, Batkid!” Miles runs through the crowds with classic 5-year-old panache, and (with the assistance of a grown-up Batman), saves the day.
He fully believes it — and everyone else does, too.
You can feel the energy of all of it through the screen. The buzzy thrill of anticipation in the air. The intensity of Miles’ real-life battle, mirrored in a comic-book narrative of good vs. evil. The rippling, collective joy of being part of something big and good and beautiful, even if just for a moment.
One of the guys behind the scenes explains it like this:
“In helping him to live this dream, we were saving ourselves. We were saving something about our grown-up souls. I think everybody remembers being a kid and wanting to be a superhero.”’
Yes. It’s what he said next, though, that really got me.
“If you’re a kid, there’s a time every day when you run absolutely as fast as you can. And then when you’re a grownup, at some point, you stop doing that.”
It’s true — at least, it is for me.
When is the last time you ran as fast as you possibly could?
As a kid, running that fast feels like flying. Remember that feeling? Sure, you’re technically earthbound; but you’re blurring through the world, capable and strong, with blood pumping in your ears and the wind in your face, and all your muscles firing at once. And you know, with your whole small being: I am fast.
It’s the delicious magic of feeling superhuman, just for a moment.
So why do we stop? We grow up. We find other priorities. We feel self-conscious. We have bad knees. We prefer yoga to sprinting. We’re not 5 years old anymore.
I think we’re missing out. And it’s not even about running. It’s about going to your limits, briefly and fully, simply for the joy of it. To know your power. To taste what it feels like to fly.
There is a kind of transcendence in doing what you were made to do, in pressing into the extremes and exploring the edges of what’s possible. To know that you can use your body and mind and spirit, the collective force of your whole self, to push against the atmosphere and change its very shape. To create something new in the world.
Whatever that means for you: do it.
Do it, and see what happens.
Run. Move through the air. Shake things up. Change Something.
The deeper thing that Batkid tapped into is this: we all have these stories that we want to be true. Stories that are big, and good, and beautiful. These stories strike at the emotional core of what we know is right and real, and pull us into it. We see something of ourselves there, dimly. We recognize something transcendent, even though we aren’t sure we can trust it.
But therein lies a secret.
If we give ourselves to those stories — and here’s where the magic happens — we can make them come alive. We can push into them, and make them our own. We can make them possible, and release them into the world.
That’s what superheroes do.
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PS, happy update: As of November 2018, the SF Chronicle reported that Miles is now 10, and is cancer-free.
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About the Author: Erin Rufledt helps companies develop their strategic messaging and brings it to life with visual design. She’s the founder of Luminary Lab, a communication design company that works with leaders and companies to align their vision, their brand and their marketing to win more business and clearly communicate about the work they do.
Originally published at the-reframe.com on August 21, 2017.
