To fly



STARSAILING

Whenever something thrills me, I compare it to flying.

Singing is like Flying. Taking my photos alone in the countryside is like flying.  I feel free, exploring the beauty around me in its large and small details, like a chronicler determined to preserve each precious picture, each moment, for always-to never let it slip away, unsung, into the darkness.  Alone with my own thoughts, and no one else's, discovering the play of movement, light and color in the leaves, flowers and grasses is like flying.  They call me to abandon my heaviness and regret and come play with them.  Far from the noise, distractions and the judgments of others, I laugh carelessly, recklessly and shamelessly out loud, grab my sun visor and camera and I finally SOAR!

This morning, over coffee, I asked myself, 'What about flying is so important?'  Why does my dream of being able to soar high above the city crowd or open landscape feel like the very essence of being free?

I have been shackled all my life to the concept that if I could just please the people around me, they might finally approve of me enough to let me into their awesome lives and I would not have to be on the outside, looking in, anymore.  And, that if I could somehow make myself small enough, insignificant enough, unassuming ENOUGH, perhaps they would tolerate my presence and not send me out into the dark night.

Controlling people were happy to oblige me by pretending to care, and then hijacking my life, telling me what to do, and worse, who I am.  I had been carefully reared to believe that the magic lay in other people-that only they knew the answers, so I listened carefully and my life was shipwrecked time after time.

Now, in my 50's, I clearly see the damage, the wasted time and effort over all the years and the bitter harvest of emptiness.  Why do I care so deeply about being in their lives?  Why do I care whether they are in mine?  If I scarcely know which way to go at this junction in my life, how in the world should THEY know?  They hardly KNOW me!  They don't know what makes me tick.  They don't know what I believe.  They did not experience what I experienced, nor did they grieve my horrible grief.  They don't even know about starsailing: being alone, when the world turns calm and silent and turning around to take in all the magnificent beauty around, the flowers, the sunset, the colors, the rising moon, the starlight.

When the world tells us we must not ever be alone, that we must have a significant other, that we must have friends, are they correct?  Why am I afraid to let go, and do things my way, no matter what?  Am I only afraid that I will crash, or is it deeper?  Perhaps, crashing, yet, again, after trying to crawl their way, I am afraid to fly, my cherished dream?  I say to them:

If I let you go, could I fly?  Time to try.

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