Freebird

She wasn’t always a free bird.

Like any bird, she had to learn how to fly. Unlike all birds, she had to create her own opportunity. Her own confidence. Her own power.

Her own space to spread her wings.

This is the story of how she found her own freedom.

Part I: Adverse Experiences

Her Voice

Chickadee was a hatchling among many. The nest sat on top of the great oak tree on Chorus Way, directly in line with the path of the rising sun.

“Chorus”. It was a peculiar name for a street, but fitting in that Chickadee awakened each bright, sun-shiny day into a nest of squeaking and squawking voices.

There, lost between the boastful clucks of the “cockadudes” and “roostabruhs”, Chickadee dreamed of being heard. However, it was easier dreamed than done.

“Pick me!” The roostabruhs peeped out eagerly - as they always did when momma bird returned with a tasty worm in her mouth. Although, it wasn’t just worms they were hungry for: it was attention. And, with their obnoxiously consistent tweets, they got it. “Listen to me!” they chirped, “Listen, listen to me!”

And momma bird, well - she listened. She lent her patient ear to all their stories, thoughts, and whines.

“Watch me!” the cockdudes insisted. They stretched their scrawny wings out and jumped from the ledge of the thorny nest. (Dumbasses – they weren’t even close to being able to fly yet.)

But, well - they got what they wanted; everyone watched them.

Mr. Rocky Raccoon scurried down to carry them back up the base of the tree, as he always did. “Damn cockakids” he muttered under his breath as he lifted them back up to safety. He had to admit, though – they were amusing; they sure were fun to watch.

“Wow, great job!” Papa bird would exclaim. Papa bird especially enjoyed watching the cockakids. He ruffled his feathers in adoration for his many bird sons. What strapping young red birds they were becoming – those cockadudes and roostabruhs. Their auras were developing into a nice, bright and extrobirded crimson color.

Meanwhile, Chickadee - quiet, introbirded and soft, pastel blue - had taken to singing. While the roostabruhs and cockdudes were busy challenging each other for watch-time and talk-time – always fighting amongst themselves in harsh chirps and screeches to be seen and to be heard - Chickadee developed her own voice by mimicking the gentle hum of the wind as it passed between the leaves of the trees.

“Tweeeedle-deeee” she would sing, “tweet, tweet, tweeeedle-deeee”. Her voice was soft and poetic. It echoed sweetly throughout the neighborhood and greeted the ears of little boys and girls as they were first opening their eyes in the morning.

“What’s all this tweedle dee business you’re always up to?” asked momma bird, “you need to peep up, like your brothers. You need to chirp more.”

But Chickadee was chirping. She was just chirping in her own way.

And so, Chickadee continued to dream that she’d be heard one day. That she'd really be heard, that is – that she'd be seen and noticed; just like the cockadudes and the roostabruhs…

just like the red birds.

Her Reflection

The days passed, and the nest swayed in the big oak tree with the come and go of the seasons. Chickadee was a growing bird. Physically, she grew bigger and stronger. Her soft down feathers turned into firm, sturdy quills that would soon support her in flight. Although she was still too young to fly, she developed the need to stretch her legs. She became eager to see more of the world around her.

Her desire was timely, as the morning came for her first day of “Middle Coop”. Chickadee happily waved goodbye to her mom as she dropped her off in the Wing-mobile. She shut the door and went hopping off to class on her little, scrawny legs. She was so excited.

Chickadee had had crushes before. But when she saw him, she was floored. His name was Jet, and he was the most beautiful cockadude she had ever laid eyes on. He had golden, curly feathers that glistened in the daylight and big, daffodil-yellow eyes. Chickadee was enchanted by yellow eyes, as they reminded her of the warm sun that she woke up to every morning.

Chickadee’s attraction to Jet grew steadily. She daydreamed about her first “peck” and fell to sleep at night hoping he would ask her to the Nestcoming Hop.

Chickadee felt giddy just thinking about Jet. He was so handsome – as handsome as a 12-year-old hatchling cockadude could be. Sometimes, Chickadee would catch Jet looking at her with those big, golden eyes - and Chickadee, for the first time, learned what it was like to have butterflies flutter inside of her.

Jet was very popular among the Middle Coop hatchlings. He was very talkative, funny, and had lots of friends. His yellow personality shined like the sun. In all honesty, Chickadee felt a bit intimidated by Jet - she wished she had the courage to talk to him. However, he continued to send her those dreamy glances, and she just had the best feeling.

***

“You have a big beak!” she overheard a voice say. Then there was giggling.

Chickadee glanced up from the lunch branch to see Jet looking at her and laughing. Those daffodil eyes she’d fallen in love with had turned into piercing lightening bolts. Robin was sitting right next to him, smiling and trying to avoid eye contact with her. Robin was a truly beautiful bird. Not only did she have a glamorous, reddish glow to her straight, silky feathers, but she was bubbly and social, and she sang the most charming springtime song.

Under the weight of their stares, Chickadee grew uncomfortable and looked away quickly. The excitement she normally felt around Jet transformed into crippling darts of anxiety. She didn't quite understand what had happened or what had gone wrong.

That night, Chickadee peered at the reflection of her face in a puddle of rainwater. She was a cute bird - a small bird. But was she pretty like Robin? Chickadee contemplated her blue aura, which reflected a soft, periwinkle sheen on her feathers. She sighed. She knew she should have tried to talk to Jet sooner; now it was probably too late. Jet was infatuated with Robin because of how popular, friendly, and lovely she was.

Chickadee leaned in to get a closer look at herself, and as she did, she caught sight of her side profile in a raindrop hanging on a leaf. As soon as she saw it, she gasped. Her beak! It was big. Chickadee's heart dropped to the floor. She had never seen this side of herself before; she felt so embarrassed.

Chickadee fell to sleep crying that night. No wonder Jet was more interested in Robin than she.

Jet made fun of Chickadee a few more times that week, until he finally announced to the class that he and Robin were “together”. After that, Jet left Chickadee alone.

And Chickadee – well, she was devastated. She hopped around on her scrawny bird legs for a few weeks with her little broken heart aching deep inside of her chest. Chickadee eventually got over Jet, but the bars of self-consciousness closed around her -

she spent the rest of her adolescent and early adult years ashamed of her beak and wishing that the was extrobirded and beautifully red, just like Robin.

Her Body

Chickadee was naturally small and didn’t need to work out much hold her figure. Now at 21, she’d also had years to learn how to tame her unruly head feathers. She’d found the right makeup to accentuate her best features, and she wore clothes that were cute, trendy, and that showed off her small bird frame. She didn’t have much of a bust, but she did her best to make her petite-ness her best characteristic.

Chickadee eventually even learned to live with her beak. She had come to appreciate her appearance enough in that she was able to see past it when she looked in the mirror. Chickadee had grown into a pretty (enough) nighten“gal”, with the soft, periwinkle reflection of her aura remaining on her feathers.

Though Chickadee had learned to accept the fact that she was a Bluebird, she continued to wish she was seen and heard the way all red, orange, and yellow birds were. There was nothing she wanted more than to shine like the sun. There was nothing she wanted more than really be to be noticed.

One day, Chickadee met a roostabruh who had just flown in from Atlanta. He was a flashy bird and had a certain swag about him unlike any cockadude or roostabruh she had ever met. His name was Red. What Chickadee especially liked about Red - aside from the fact that he was, well...red - was the fact that his head feathers were a bit unruly, just like hers. And, just like she did, Red tamed them back. Except, he did it in a sexy, sleek Mohawk style that Chickadee found especially irresistible. He was a Cardinal roostabruh - and, good Lord, he was fly.

“Maybe I’ll be good enough for him” Chickadee thought to herself, "maybe opposites will attract this time."

And she was good enough – for a “good time”, that is.

Red was fun, outgoing, and very charismatic. He instantly made lots of friends, especially with the people he worked with. But, he was also a bruh, so he was fucking stupid and lame. He told Chickadee all the right things and then did all the wrong things behind her back, like nesting up with the nighten“gals” at his work. He was also addicted to “Hatch” and was determined not to miss a chance to meet someone new he might be interested in.

All the while, Red played Chickadee into thinking he really liked her. He did like her, to be honest. He “enjoyed her company”. She was cute, quietly funny, and easy to talk to. And, he knew that she really, really liked him – so he felt confident that she’d always come flapping along whenever he wanted her.

Chickadee never thought she’d be “that chick” to throw herself at a roostabruh, but she’d never felt this way about anybird. Although he only hit her up to go out on weekends, Chickadee told herself it was just because he was “busy”. Chickadee wasn’t stupid, she was just infatuated. She wasn’t gullible, she was just still slightly affected by being rejected in the past.

And so, Chickadee refused to let Red reject her, even though all the signs said he might eventually do so. She had a great time with Red whenever she was with him, and she let those moments outshine whatever thoughts of doubt occasionally tried to sneak their way into her mind.

Chickadee gave all of herself to Red. She did things to him (physically) that she never would have imagined herself doing… to anybird. She knew Red was very desired and she wanted to show him that she could fulfill all his needs. She hoped that he wouldn’t get hungry for anything other than her. She prayed that she was pretty enough for him. That she was sexy enough. That she was cool and outgoing enough.

Then one day, it happened. Red’s excuse was that they were “moving too fast” and he needed to “slow down” because he “wasn’t really sure what he wanted”. He suggested they take a break.

Chickadee gave him his space and hoped he’d come flapping back to her. But, it was two weeks into their break when she was flipping through “Tweeter” and came across a picture Red had posted of himself with another nighten“gal”. And, she was a beautiful nighten“gal”. She had long, gorgeous orange feathers and big, bright amber eyes. She had the smallest beak Chickadee had ever seen, and her chest was puffed out, voluptuous, and very full.

Chickadee’s heart instantly sank. Red had never posted a picture on Tweeter with her before. Her worst nightmare had come true – Red desired someone more beautiful than she. What was even worse was that after giving every last inch of herself to Red, he had still turned her away.

Chickadee not only felt physically repulsive, but she started to hate herself for being introbirded, quiet, and shy…

and the bars closed in tighter around her.

Part II: Emerging Bridges

Glide

Chickadee was a bit of a late-bloomer. She was 27 when she finally left the nest for good, even though most nighten“gals”, cockadudes, and roostabruhs where already flying on their own by the time they were 18. Chickadee, however, was different. She had needed just a bit more time high up on top of that big oak tree on Chorus Way, awakening to the rising sun each morning. There was just something about about bright, fiery-warmth that spoke to her.

When it was time, Chickadee moved to a town near the bay about an hour and a half flight by Wing-mobile from momma bird and poppa bird’s place. Momma bird and poppa bird joked that they now had an “empty nest” and that all their hatchings had “flown the coop”.

Chickadee had finally spread her wings and was off on her own in the world. However, she was not actually flying – she was gliding: riding the wind tides and going through the motions to her destinations; not actually creating her own momentum.

No one knew why Chickadee could not yet fly. Momma bird had been researching and trying to figure it out for the longest time - ever since Chickadee was about 22 and still showed no signs of becoming airborne. On her 26th birthday, momma bird finally took Chickadee to the wise Old Owl to try to get some answers.

While it was true that some hatchlings took longer to fly than others, Chickadee’s case was an especially curious one. Indeed, it stumped the Old Owl. He did all the tests and looked over all of Chickadee’s health history, and - by all means and indications - Chickadee should have been flying. In fact, she should have started flying years ago. There was simply no reason for her not to - she was strong and she was healthy. Her wings were long, sturdy, muscular, and they were covered with firm and waterproof feathers.

Old Owl spent an hour inspecting all those feathers - making sure they were all positioned ideally for flight; hoping some inconsistency would pop up that might help explain her struggle. Yet, there was none. Her wings were perfect.

Chickadee had gradually become ok with just gliding. Of course, she wished she could fly, but after having lived without doing so for such a long time, she tended to think she did not know any different. After all, it wasn't so bad - there were other gliders in her new area as well. She could get to the places she needed to go as long as she could catch a ride back up the tall pine tree where her studio-nest was located. Luckily, there was a family of friendly raccoons that made their living scurrying up and down the trees all day, giving rides to the gliders.

And so, Chickadee passed the days before her new job was to start by gliding around the neighborhood, completing her errands. She was excited about her new job. She was starting to feel like a grown nighten“gal”, and not just a hatchling who hopped around on scrawny legs: even if she was only gliding.

Transpose, Breathe, Re-Center

Chickadee often remembered her early days on Chorus Way, when she would sing on top of that big oak tree.

“Tweeeedle-deeee” she recalled, “tweet, tweet, tweeeedle-deeee”.

Chickadee smiled whenever she thought of the song. She still sang, but in different melodies and in different octaves now.

In college, Chickadee had learned to develop her speaking voice a bit more than those days long ago, when her poetic tweets were drowned out by the squawks of her brothers. Chickadee chirped now, and she was excited to finally be heard.

***

Chickadee woke up early on the morning of her first day at her new job. She felt ready to conquer the world. She put on her most professional outfit, did her makeup just right, and released her head feathers, which she had set in rollers the night before. They came out exquisitely. Chickadee looked at herself in the mirror. Damn. She looked fly as fuck. For the first time, Chickadee felt pretty good about herself.

Chickadee arrived early. Thankfully, the wind was blowing in the ideal position for gliding, and she was carried directly to the Big Birch Tree on 5th Avenue. “It’s a sign” she thought to herself, “it means it’s going to be a great day!”

And it was a great day. (In the beginning.)

The first two weeks were to be paid training. After some silly ice breakers, the instructors called everyone to their branches to begin “birdness”. They began discussing the hot topics on the stork market.

“So” the instructor began, “bull market, or bear market?”

“BIRD MARKET!!!” a roostabruh immediately yelled out.

The instructor snapped his winger and winked at him, “you got it!” he said.

Oops. Chickadee had raised her wing, but, she was already seeing how things worked here. Fucking bruhs. She was instantly transported back to her hatchling-hood as the memory of her brothers’ screeches crept into her mind. “Listen to me!” they yelled.

“So!” The instructor extrobirdedly proclaimed again, already feeding off the energy of the roostabruhs and cockadudes, “if it’s a BIRD market, should investors buy, or should they sell?”

Oh! Chickadee knew this one. She raised her wing. “Well – “ she began...

“BUY!!!” a cockadude blurted out obnoxiously - before Chickadee even had a chance to finish her thought.

The instructor again snapped and winked.

Chickadee rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t that depend?” She asked.

A gazillion eyes turned and looked at her. Chickadee instantly felt an awkward energy wash over her body and settle right in the middle of her chest. She was transported back to the time when Jet called her out for having a "big beak", and the entire room of hatchlings peered at her.

“What do you mean” a roostabruh stated. (It wasn’t a question.)

“Well,” said Chickadee, “I mean, it depends if the buyer is early in the game or not. They have to buy early or else they’re going to be paying a lot for those storks…it might not be ethical to advise investors to buy them if they are looking to sell them in the near future.”

“Oh, that’s birdshit!” a random cockadude proclaimed. He waved his wingers around and flapped at his chest. “We want investors to be birdish!! I would never want an investor that didn’t believe in the company’s future!”

Chickadee stared at him for a second, wondering if that even made sense. They were training to be brokers, not traders for a specific company.

“I think you might be mixing up our role and that of tra-” Chickadee started.

“YOU’RE CONFUSED!” the cockadude exclaimed.

(Then there was cockadude and roostabruh laugher.)

Chickadee sunk into her chest. He was wrong. She knew he was. Other birds in that room must have known it, too. Why wasn’t anyone chirping anything? She felt her face growing hot with baseless embarrassment. Had she just been gas lighted?

Chickadee could have continued to try to clarify her thought, but she stopped herself. It appeared there was a glass barrier between herself and this cockadude. She felt she wasn't getting anywhere today with this argument.

Chickadee went home that day with a lingering feeling of discomfort. She kept replaying the scene over and over again in her mind. The screeches of her brothers from hatchling-hood echoed back from the past:

“Listen to me! Listen! Listen to me!”

For Chickadee, memories from the past were often triggered by things that happened in her present, and they had the potential to bring her back in time to places she did not necessarily want to be. As the voices haunted her, she closed her eyes and tried to center herself. "I'm here now" she whispered, "and I'm strong."

She repeated the sentence over and over again until the discomfort gradually faded away.

Part III: Chrysalis

Resonate

Chickadee did not stay with that company for much longer. It wasn’t because she’d been scared away - but rather - she simply realized she wanted to do something more with her life. While she knew she did have it within her to learn how to compete with the cockadudes and the roostabruhs if she really wanted to, the thought of actually doing it made her want to regurgitate her worm meal into a hatchling’s mouth. It didn't seem worth it, nor did it seem that important to her at the end of the day. There had to be more to life than arguing with those roosta-cocka-fucks and trying to prove herself all the time. It would have been different if she'd found herself believing that being a Stork Market Broker was her true calling - she would have fought for it - but she decided that role just wasn’t it for her. She knew she had a greater purpose.

So, Chickadee woke up one morning, quit, and bought herself a Jet-mobile ticket to Costa Rica. She wasn’t really sure what direction her life was taking at this point, but she knew for certain that she had to get out of town for a while. She’d applied and been accepted to an awesome program that would train and certificate her to teach North American Bird-Code to adolescent Costa Rican hatchlings. And, while she was there living, getting to know the local birds, and immersing herself in the culture, it’d be a great opportunity to (in turn) learn Tropical Bird-Code (or TBC) - something she'd always wanted to do! Chickadee was extremely excited. She couldn’t wait to get to know the macaws, the parrots, and the toucans – she’d heard such wonderful things about them, and about their country.

Chickadee was only supposed to stay in Costa Rica for 6 months, but she ended up living there for two years. She had a truly remarkable time and ended up making some life-long friendships. She fell deeply in love with the Costa Rican culture and accomplished her goal of learning to speak TBC. And, by doing so, something happened:

Chickadee wasn’t sure why, but the locals listened to her when she spoke their language. Not only that, but their eyes lit up when she did.

Perhaps it was her accent that enchanted them. Or, perhaps it was because the locals realized the extraordinary amount of courage it must have taken her to move to a completely different country, learn an entirely new language, and, after all that - have the confidence to communicate in a foreign code with strangers.

Whatever the reason may have been, for the first time, one thing was for certain:

Chickadee felt like she was really being listened to, just liked she'd always dreamed. And, although she still wasn't quite sure how she fit into the world, little pieces of the meaning of life were starting to resonate deeply with her spirit.

Radiate

Upon returning to North America, Chickadee was determined to find a career path in which she could use her new ability to chirp in TBC. She ended up becoming a Dual Immersion educator, where she taught TBC to young students.

Being a teacher was not easy for Chickadee. In fact, it was exhausting. It demanded that she constantly be “on” in front of her students, which – as an introbird - was not Chickadee’s natural state. Though Chickadee had worked very hard to become a strong chirper, it still took an incredible amount of energy out of her to do so, and she went home every day tired beyond belief. Being “on” in front of others for such a long period during the day required her to recharge in solitude when she returned to her studio-nest. Despite this, however – something miraculous was unfolding:

Chickadee was finding that she was able to come alive through teaching in a way she had never been able to come alive before. There was a certain magic to teaching very young hatchings, and she realized that she truly radiated in front of them. Her sense of humor came out as she told silly jokes to amuse them, and her musical side came out as she sang songs to teach them letter names and letter sounds.

“Tweeeedle-deeee” she sang to them, “tweet, tweet, tweeeedle-deeee...ABCDEFGGGGG”.

“Tweeeedle-deeee!” echoed the hatchlings. They flapped their little wings and cooed their little bird voices enthusiastically along with her. They heard her. They listened to her.

And when Chickadee danced and stood up to teach them how to do all the wonderful things that she taught them how to do, they saw her.

And so, Chickadee began to truly shine.

Elevate

One night, Chickadee had a dream about the sunrise. From the darkness of a deep sleep, she opened her eyes to find herself perched on the rim of her parents’ nest way up on top of that big oak tree on Chorus Way.

With a vantage point well and beautifully positioned above the clouds, she could see everything - from the very beginning of her own world and all the way to the edge of the universe. Wide-eyed, she watched distant planets and shooting stars sprinkle the vast foreverness with glow and wonder as they circled around in their orbits. Chickadee felt as if she could almost grab them, but that she also might fall into the bottomless void below her if she dared to try.

Somehow, these magical bodies maintained their sparkle and splendor despite the fact that the sun – the scintillating, fiery and brilliant morning sun – was pouring ever growing amounts of light into the atmosphere. As it did, it set the clouds ablaze with the most dream-like shade of apricot-crimson, transforming them into scattered rows of wild poppies and roses which contrasted - like an oil painting - against a cerulean-blue sky.

Chickadee sat there for what seemed like hours, mesmerized by the aurora-like sunrise. When she finally woke up, it had burned itself into her heart in such a way that her thoughts felt surreally uplifted.

Chickadee grabbed the closest notebook she could find and immediately began writing. She wasn’t sure how, but she realized she was interpreting messages from those bright apricot clouds that still remained - with the permanence of tattoos - in her mind, heart, and soul.

Chickadee gradually began sharing these messages with the world in the form of short stories and poetry. Her words were uplifting and ethereal, as they had been pulled directly out of the sky. While it took her awhile to realize, Chickadee came to understand that many were listening to her through her written compositions; for her sunrise-inspired work had given her a voice.

And ultimately, by speaking to and uplifting others, Chickadee began to uplift herself.

Part IV: Butterfly Birdie

Fly

"How the hell am I supposed to end this damn bird story?" the woman muttered to herself.

The due date for the "Moment of Freedom" challenge was rapidly approaching, and she was experiencing the worst episode of writer's block. Not only that, but she was going way over the word limit, and she couldn't figure out how to fix it without cutting out something meaningful.

She stared out the window, where the sun was rising up over the eastern hills. It was the first time she'd visited this place. She'd been sitting at the desk for hours, waiting for this exact moment - hoping it would give her some type of inspiration. That this place would. As she watched the dawn break over her temporary, tiny slice of Earth, she sighed; realizing she was stuck with only the dream she'd had the night before.

"How's it going?" a voice asked from behind her. It was her husband. His question pulled her out of deep thought.

"Horrible" she replied, "I can't think of a clever way to wrap up Chickadee's discovery of freedom." She rolled her eyes. She was beginning to feel like this was actually a very irrelevant story. Her personal struggle with freedom was minuscule compared to what others around the world were currently facing.

Her husband patted her on the back and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You'll think of something" he said, "I'm going to go lie down for another hour."

As his footsteps faded from the room, the woman's thoughts wandered back to her dream. It was the lamest, corniest ending - something straight out of a childrens' book (she was a teacher, afterall...) - but was it the only thing that made sense? She started to write:

As time will have them do, the events of Chickadee’s life came and blurred themselves into memory. Chickadee carried on with her role as a teacher of hatchlings, and found purpose from inspiring the young minds that would help shape the world’s future.

"Blah..blah...blah..." the woman thought, "ok, I guess that's not that bad..." she continued:

Then one day, as she was gliding to work, the wind suddenly stopped. With her wings outstretched fully in both directions, Chickadee rode the dwindling waves down…down… down; until she finally landed in the backyard of a gardener. While she was first enchanted by the many beautiful flower rows that surrounded her, Chickadee was gradually overcome with worry as she realized there weren’t any trees to catch the wind again from. Nor were there any helpful raccoons.

The woman stopped, and slapped her face. This is where things got really cheesy.

"Am I really about to have this fucking Bluebird suddenly just have the epiphany that she's 'found her metaphorical and symbolistic red' through teaching and writing?"

She rolled her eyes just thinking about how awful it was.

"There has to be a better way to end this" she thought.

Just then, a tiny shadow swept past her peripheral vision. She looked out the window just in time to see a beautiful blue and apricot-colored bird snag a worm from the grass, and fly back up into the sky.

"Did you see that Bluebird?" her husband asked.

The woman jumped back, startled. She thought he'd been sleeping. "That was a Bluebird?"

"Yeah, that's what they look like out here on the East Coast" he said, "different, huh?"

"It had patches of apricot on it" she said, "I never realized that before...I always thought they were just...blue."

"I know" he said, "that color on their chest reminds me of the sunrise."

A ray of light hit the woman's thoughts. "Me, too" she said, and - slamming herself back down in her seat - she continued to write:

"What's wrong, pretty bird?" a human voice asked.

Chickadee looked up, startled, to see a woman approaching her.

"You can't fly?" The woman scooped Chickadee up in her hands, and guided her to perch on her finger.

Chickadee was brought up to the woman's face, where she was able to see her own reflection in the mirror of her sunglasses. It was the first time Chickadee had seen herself in full, and she was taken aback by what she saw:

a Bluebird, indeed...but one that was also adorned with patches of apricot; just like the apricot clouds from the sunrise in her dream.

"I love how you're blue and red" the woman said.

And the words instantly made Chickadee's spirit soar. She spread her wings, and with the realization that she was the only one that was ever holding herself back - she lifted herself into the sky...

as a free bird.

The woman closed her laptop, and frowned. She felt frustrated beyond belief; she still wasn't sure she liked it. In fact, she was pretty sure she hated it. The prison of her perfectionism wasn't allowing her any closure. It was still horrendously corny. And lame.

She looked out the window again. The sun was high in the sky now, and she let the light shine on her face for a moment. Realizing she was exhausted, she decided to lie down for a nap.

As she released her long hair from the tight bun that sat high on her head, dark brown spirals fell down and gently brushed her shoulders, like feathers.

And that was when she realized that the real ending to the story was this one:

The woman's head fell softly on the pillow, and as it did so, she thought about how lucky she was to have been able to overcome her adverse childhood experiences. She still had insecure moments; but overall and ultimately, she'd been able to accept herself for who she was. She'd broken free of the chains that once held her back and didn't let those past traumas - which undeniably had shaped her - control her anymore. She knew very well that not everyone was so lucky.

As her breaths became deeper, she felt grateful for her freedom of speech; that she had found stories and poetry as a way to express herself, and that she was free to do so. That she might, perhaps, encourage and uplift someone else with her very average work - even if just one person in this world - and even if she never won any Vocal challenges. 💗 :)

As her thoughts became lighter and the bars of perfectionism began to lift away from her mind, she realized how lovely it was that she could be silly in the classroom with her kids: that she could tell jokes and sing songs to them. That she could teach them things she felt were important in life, like being kind and celebrating other cultures and languages. That she could teach another language that wasn't her country's national one. That she could give young children that gift.

As her heartbeat slowed, she prayed for others in the world who weren't as fortunate as she. That she could find a way to help them, even in the smallest way. Perhaps even by writing a short story that made people think about an interesting perspective on freedom. Because sometimes, even in a free world, not everyone is free from the dark of their mind.

As she drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thought was how the word "freedom" can mean so many different things to so many different people...

and as she awoke into her dream world, her blue and red spirit soared high in the sky...

as a free bird.

***

photo credit: shutterstock