As a girl, I wanted to fly.
Not in the air with wings and feathers...
...and not with a seat belt or machinery.
In those days, what I thought of as flying was really freedom. That’s what I wanted.
Freedom to play the eclectic auntie with gifts and stories from my travels to far away lands.
Freedom to live out my fantasy of independence and a life of adventure with my Malibu Barbie (who owned a milk carton corvette and a cereal box condo).
As I got older, I struggled. Let’s just say that at every turn other people - from parents, to boyfriends to bosses - wanted my wings clipped.
I was labeled stubborn, difficult, unruly.
Worst part? I believed them.
I believed that I was hard to get along with.
I believed that my ideas were foolish, over-the-top and not practical enough.
I believed that maybe if I were less me, I’d be loved more...
Best part? I noticed how miserable, small and afraid they were.
I didn’t notice it right away but over time I did notice. And I thought to myself...they’re too afraid to fly.
My wingspan scared them.
My ability to ideate without a net scared them.
My childlike belief that anything is possible, that I could and would figure out how to make my ideas a solid thing freaked them out.
At first, I was pissed off. How dare they make me believe I should crawl?!
Through some miracle I can only attribute to grace, favor and being fed up, I forgave them all.
Thinking, seeing and being unlike other people doesn’t make you wrong. Or bad. Or damaged.
It makes you different. That’s all.
Others may judge you hell, you can bet they will.
But before you shrink, before you believe them please take a beat to notice...
Are they standing in the same place? Are they huddled in the corners of their life criticizing and judging?
Because nothing is more frightening to those that live low to the ground than those who soar with wings.
You’re different. I’m different. We’re a unique, feathered bunch. Let’s celebrate that so we can be free to fly. Okay?
If we were lounging side-by-side at the Catskills, we’d bond over fruity drinks with pink umbrellas and then exchange emails on the back of a ring stained coaster. (HOW FAB IS THAT?!)
THE BAD NEWS? We’re all out of coasters. The good news? We can still become email pen-pals. Yay! My email is firstname.lastname@example.org. What’s yours?
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