Some people grow into their favorite characters.
I was apparently born into mine.
Before I could read, before I could spell my own name, before I had any sense of plot or metaphor, I loved the ruby slippers. Not practical shoes. Not subtle shoes. Shoes that said click your heels and believe in magic. Shoes that felt like they mattered.
Which in hindsight, explains why I've always been fascinated by Dorothy Gale and the Wizard of Oz.
This wasn't just a phase. It wasn't nostalgia. Dorothy has followed me my whole life. I didn't just admire her- I recognized myself in her. So much so that when I got married, I walked down the aisle almost twenty years ago to "Over the Rainbow" (just to be clear- the original not the Hawaii version). Not because it was whimsical (though it was) but because it felt like a truth I'd been carrying forever.
Dorothy isn't flashy. She's not trying to be brave. She doesn't set out to be a hero. She just wants to get home- and somehow ends up changing everyone she meets along the way. That's always resonated with me. I've never been interested in spectacle for spectacle's sake. I want meaning. Belonging. A place where things make sense.
But Dorothy's magic was never the shoes.
The shoes were just the reminder.
Dorothy walks through Oz thinking she needs something external to fix everything. A wizard. An answer. A guarantee. Meanwhile, she's already leading, loving, and holding everyone together. She keeps the group moving. She listens. She cares. She refuses to abandon anyone, even when the road gets uncomfortable.
That part feels personal.
Dorothy attracts people who are lost- not because she has all of the answers, but because she has a heart. A scarecrow who doubts his intelligence. A tin man who fears he can't feel. A lion who believes courage is something you're either born with or not. And Dorothy? She never questions their worth. She assumes it is already there.
That kind of belief in others changes you.
Of course, no journey down the yellow brick road is complete without running into a few Wicked Witches. And no, I'm not talking about the green skinned, flying monkey type (although I've met a few personalities that came close). I mean the real-life kind- the ones who smile sweetly, stir the pot quietly, and somehow always act shocked when you notice.
Dorothy had flying monkeys to worry about. I have group texts, gossip, and rumors.
But what I've learned is that every version of Oz has its witches, but they're rarely the point of the story. They're just the obstacles that remind you to keep your shoes on, your heart intact, and your boundaries firmly clicked together.
Speaking of shoes. Those red, sparkly shoes aren't about vanity- they're about agency. They're about power hidden in plain sight. They're about carrying something extraordinary while being told you're ordinary. They're about learning that the thing you've been searching for was with you all along.
Dorothy doesn't want Oz. She doesn't want the throne or spotlight. She wants home- not the naive home she left. She wants the version that's richer because she's changed. Because she's seen more. Because she knows now that she can survive storms and still choose kindness.
That's growth.
And, when Dorothy finally clicks her heels it's not desperation- it's clarity. She knows who she is. She knows what she values. She knows where she belongs.
So yes, I've loved red sparkly shoes since I was baby.
Yes, I've had a lifelong love of Oz and yes, I'm like Dorothy.
I still believe in wonder. I've walked long roads (literally, I ran a couple of marathons), had a loyal pup (or two) by my side, met strange characters- some I've grown to love, dodged more than enough witches, been surrounded by Munchkins (mom/teacher life), and hoped my way through storms.
Because maybe I've always known, somewhere deep down, that magic isn't escaping your life.
It's about walking thought it-
bravely, gently, and with just enough sparkle to remind yourself who you are.
I've learned-finally-that there's no place like home.
Especially when you've built it yourself.