I’ve no desire for dramatic superpowers. At my age, I’d settle for the quiet ability to get through life without losing my glasses, misplacing my keys or discovering yet another unexplained ache. No mystery, no destiny, no cosmic choreography, just the simple power to keep things ticking along. While others dream of flight or invisibility, I’d be perfectly content with the modest gift of getting on with it, calmly and without applause, the way most of us do on an ordinary British morning with a cup of tea and a sigh.
The Superpower of Simply Getting On With It
I’ve reached the age, nearly 64 if we’re counting, where the idea of having a superpower feels less like a childhood fantasy and more like a practical matter.
I don’t need to leap tall buildings, I’d settle for getting out of a chair without making a noise. I certainly don’t need to read minds, I can barely keep track of my own. The usual comic‑book options feel wasted on a man who now considers a well‑timed nap a strategic victory.
So if I were to choose a superpower, it would have to be something modest, something sensible, something that fits comfortably within the British temperament. Nothing involving capes. As an older man I’d forego anything involving Lycra and I don’t want to alarm the neighbours by talking in tongues.
Perhaps the ability to regrow hair, though knowing my luck it would sprout in all the wrong places and I’d end up looking like a startled hedgehog. Maybe the power to reach the front of the bus before anyone else, which would be impressive.
No, the superpower I’d actually want is far simpler, the ability to sort life out without any fuss. To know where I left my glasses. To remember why I walked into a room. To fix a leaking tap without consulting a YouTube guru who insists on calling me “mate.” To get through a day without discovering a new ache in a previously unremarkable part of the body. A superpower that doesn’t save the world, but saves me from myself.
If I’m honest, I wouldn’t mind a superpower that lets me glide past the elections on 7th May without the creeping dread that comes from watching the political winds shift in ways I find less than uplifting.
I’m not predicting anything, I’ll leave that to the pundits, but I can already feel the familiar British urge to look away politely, mutter “Well, that’s unfortunate,” and put the kettle on. A superpower that shields me from the inevitable post‑election commentary would be worth more to me than flight, strength or immortality.
In the end, what I really want is a superpower that helps me get on with things. Something calm, prosaic, unshowy. Something that doesn’t rely on mystery or cosmic approval. Just the quiet ability to navigate life without blaming the universe or waiting for applause.
A superpower that says, in the most British way possible, “Right then. Let’s carry on”.
Further Reading
The Shape of Now: Meta Hub – This article is part of the Shape of Now Meta Hub, a curated collection exploring culture, politics, identity, and the present moment.