I thought this as the possible explanation as I walked down from the children’s hospital last night after volunteering, and again this morning on the way to the train station. Why do I feel so blah? Wasn’t I just high on life last week, bouncing around the elementary school covered in paint and tape? Didn’t I just sing praises for my 3 am alarm giving me the opportunity to send off kids and their families on well-deserved trips far, far away from hospital rooms and doctor appointments?
YES and YES, but back to the harsh reality of, well, reality- also known as the work week. I know it’s Wednesday, but for some reason that isn’t helping too much. So what gives? Am I homesick? Maybe. I’m not sure. Am I stressed out? Perhaps a little but I’ve been a lot worse before. Seriously, what’s up with this week? Am I the only one who feels this way?
“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.” That darn line from The Notebook has been in my mind all day ever since I saw a Facebook-friend from high school’s status this morning: Love is patient. Without thinking, I hit “Like”. Hours later I’m still thinking about the line, but not in the sense of romantic love. Instead I wonder for how long one can be patient when it comes to their passions. How long will you wait, how much time & energy can you exert, for a dream to come true?
I’ve spent a lot of my life dreaming, but I’ve never believed in something as much as I do right now. (Okay, maybe one other thing but this isn’t about him.) I know my dream, my goal. I know it’s attainable, but when is it going to work out? Will I ever lose steam trying and trying and trying to catch a break? I know it’s worth it, and the kids are worth it. And as much as I doubt myself, I know that I am deserving and qualified to fulfill such a role.
But unfortunately when it comes to new opportunities, sometimes we’re just a piece of paper to new eyes. We have no soul. No heart. We are only the letters on the page and the words they form. How they’re perceived is a mixture of luck, chance, and, well, luck. The black font doesn’t always show our hopes, our dreams, our beliefs, our talents, our skills, our beauty. If you know me, really know me, you know all of this is ‘me’- the things a piece of paper cannot always show.
Let me leave you with this thought. When we fly the coup (ie leave our parents’ house and/or our hometown), we don’t always know our destination. Okay, some people do so I’ll change that. When I flew the coup 3 1/2 years ago, I didn’t know where my flight would eventually lead me. Last night, in a weak moment on my walk home I thought, maybe I should go back to Pittsburgh. Maybe that’s the best decision for me. It’s not. I know that, but at least there I know that three people help me feel like I belong somewhere, as well as the past where I first really learned to fly.
But did I really learn to fly then, as a child, as a teen? The world was so much smaller back then. The sky was full of boundaries and limited opportunities. That alone makes me realize that my wings were still clipped, hence the reason I couldn’t fully fly and therefore, young birds fall more than soar. But that was then, and now they’re no longer clipped. I’m free to fly wherever my wings will permit me to go.
So I decided to ‘fly’ to Cleveland this weekend to visit Julie & Ken. Up until a few hours ago, I wasn’t sure if it was going to work. But when something is that important to you, like Juls is to me, you find a way to make it work. So this little bird is headed back to O-H-I-O for some much-needed R&R, bonding, and Megabus soul-searching this weekend. This may be the time that I decide not to come back to Chicago…we’ll see. This bird is ready to fly, and fly she will. Somewhere, anywhere she belongs.
Are we falling or flying?
Are we living or dying?
Cause my friend this too shall pass
So play every show like it’s your last