But my favorite stories are those about family. I love Little Women, the Little House books, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. While these stories have so much happening in them, the underlying importance of family is so evident.
Sometimes, though, I get a little too caught up in the families of literature, and find myself wishing that I had a sister like Beth. Or a big brother like Peter. I wish that my family put on plays together like the Marches. Or went on wonderful wardrobe adventures with the Pevensies. I wish that I was doing something momentous, something memorable, something worthwhile. I wish I was a hero.
That's the problem with wishing, though. As much as I want it, there simply is no wardrobe for me to go through and get to Narnia. I don't have a big brother named Peter. And my family isn't living in the Big Woods of Wisconsin. And I don't even have a trusty steed to ride into battle on (and that's ignoring the fact that I'm petrified of horses).
Deep down inside, though, I want an adventure. I want a sweeping, romantic, epic adventure that takes me far away from the humdrum of real life.
But the reality is that I'm living an adventure. Every day I wake up and never know what the next one holds. When I really think about it, I've had as many adventures as Lucy or Laura or Jo ever did.
We're not so different after all.
I didn't have to rescue my sister from falling through ice like Jo did Amy, but I have jumped into a slimy pond to save Evan.
I didn't have to watch at the door for wolves like Pa and Laura, but I have stood at the door to watch for floodwaters and tornados.
I haven't gone through a magical wardrobe to an enchanted world, but my world is already full of magic.
There's magic in the way Evan and I will joke back and forth. "Evan is so silly!" "NO! Tori silly!"
There's adventure in getting ready to go to college, in being a big sister, in getting up every morning.
I am the heroine of my own story.
The best part? Thanks to the dashing Prince, I already know there's a happy ending.