I must have muttered The Wish a thousand times.
I wished it as a child, when waiting for Christmas presents was too torturous to endure.
I wished it as a teenager while sitting alone in my room as my parents discussed my punishment for some infraction or other.
I wished it as a young mother, when I heard my children whispering to each other in their beds at night.
I wished it again when my oldest son took his date to the prom.
I wished it whenever I heard a second-hand story about a particularly poignant moment of laughter. I wished it whenever I discovered an enemy had been humiliated or a friend honored. I wished it whenever I read something in the news – something shocking, scandalous, or mysterious. I wished it whenever I waited in suspense to find out the results of an exam or the winner of a contest.
But now that I actually was a fly on a wall, I wasn't sure exactly what to do with myself.
As I fought the urge to buzz aimlessly and look for something sticky to land on, it occurred to me that a great deal of freedom and power is wasted on the fly.