Call it a messiah complex gone mad, but my compulsion to save everyone in the world just went feline. Yes, feline.
When you’re in the business of saving people’s lives – ya know, like policemen, firemen, doctors, etc. – it’s easy to develop this complex. You start to think you were made to be a savior. But it’s only a matter of time before you realize that while you may have saved a small town from a burglar or an elderly couple from a burning home or a teenage boy from a gunshot wound, you can’t do much about saving their soul.
So that’s why you consider becoming a counselor or therapist or maybe even a pastor. Maybe then you can help save something deeper than nice hair, chiseled abs, or dentured smiles. But you soon discover the blurry line between helping people and trying to play “God” in their life. Even I wouldn’t want to assume the role of playing God.
No. I want to save people in a more unique way than someone in civil service – and yet more tangibly than someone in the clergy.
That’s when it hit me. I needed to become a real-life super hero.
Yeah. I know they don’t really exist. But I’m rich. I’m creative. I’m a little crazy. A little melancholy. A little adventurous.
I’m the Blue Cheetah.