The Beauty of Flying

Being on the receiving end of gaslighting sucks. I was out walking on a bitter and windy day along the harbor and indulging myself in a pity party and brooding over life’s meaner secrets. I kept repeating to myself that it ("it" being the relationship) was finally over. I was telling myself that I was done. That I deserved better. That I needed to stand up, walk away, and start over. Yet, there I was . . . yet trying to distill my anxiety and worry and resentment into a manageable state of forgiveness with which I could return home. Go figure, I know.

In the distance, I saw an older woman with a kite. She was dressed for the wind, which I was not. She was jerkily working the line to offer her kite up to the fresh gusts, her age precluding her from running into the wind. Her face was partially turned back to watch her kite, hoping to see it catch and take flight.

Her futile gestures tugged at me. A sadness took hold of my spirit, until I realized that my perspective was wonky: she was the one out in the elements seeking to create magic in the sky doing something she loved to do. I was merely walking off an argument with my boyfriend and feeling sorry for myself.

As I neared the woman, I felt a tug of uncertainty pull at me. Should I offer help? If I do, will that come across as condescending? Should I allow this person her independence and the satisfaction of having accomplished the task of getting the kite up in the air on her own? Or might she appreciate a helping hand?

I know. Too much thinking. My rational brain was prompting me to keep walking and honor her admirable independence while my emotional brain was nudging me to offer some help. I walked past her. And then I stopped. There is never harm in offering help if the intention is pure, right? Decision made. Score 1 for Team Emotional Brain. I asked. She said, Yes.

I ran with her kite until she yelled for me to stop. She told me to just tug on it and toss it up in the air and she could take it from there. I tossed her kite twice before the wind grabbed it. The woman’s eyes were on her kite. She was smiling. Such a small moment of exchange. I could feel nature’s pulse in the line as the wind grabbed it from my hands. There was truly no effort on my part involved. The wind did all the work.

As I left, she told me thank-you-so-much. She didn't think that she could have raised the kite on her own. She said that there was a group of people who meet down at the park each Wednesday afternoon and that I should come and bring a kite and join them. I thanked her for the invitation and then kept walking.

But something had shifted. Strange encounters have a way of transforming into blessings. Coincidences aren’t always just that – sometimes they are direct signs. We talk about defining moments and this was one of them. The mixture of fear and anger and hurt and resentment I had been feeling was . . . gone. It sounds implausible and even a bit corny, but it felt as if the uncertainty of what I needed to do had been literally lifted from my heart and up into the wind.

I frequently go to the harbor on Wednesdays, but I have yet to bring a kite with me. Instead, I lie on my back on a grassy-green hill and watch the toss of brilliant colors in the blue sky. I look for her kite. It is one of the smaller kites, some of them being extraordinarily extravagant and gregarious.

I see her green and red tree frog soaring in the wind, and the incongruity of a frog flying on the breeze feels ironically beautiful. I am watching something tangibly impossible. I am witnessing a miracle. And I remind myself that I was able to touch that miracle on a gray-sky day when no one was present at the park but she and I. I returned home that day and conjured the courage to pull the plug. The house went on the market and was sold. Assets were divided. We parted ways. I tried to wish him well. I was done and ready to fly.

Seeing the woman with her Kite Club, it strikes me odd that she was all alone the day that I met her. Maybe she was chasing her own demons around that day. Maybe she just wanted to catch some wind. Maybe she just loves to fly her frog.

In the purest ways of giving, my offer to help her ultimately helped me. It helped me gain clarity. She put my mind up into the sky and out of the mire where an unpleasant exchange of words had sunk my spirit.

I create what I allow. I witness beauty when I open my eyes. My mind. My heart. I can close my eyes and imagine the tug of wind and the release I experienced by over-riding my personal barriers with a spirit of helping. Helping others and helping myself.

Life is good these days. I can make a difference. I can encourage change through advocacy. And, yes, I can be the change – for others and for me. I can create something beautiful and useful. I have a purpose when I get out of my own way. Life is good these days, and I am soaring.