Friday, April 27, 2007

Scribbling: Wings


(Today I felt like trying another Scribbling Challenge. I’ll only get better at writing if I keep practicing . . .)

Moving out of my parents’ house was the best risk that I have ever taken.

Yes, I was a hopelessly naïve 23 year old, renting an attic room in a city I was unfamiliar with and with very few friends nearby.

Yes, I spent many evenings crying from loneliness.

Yes, I was horrible at managing my meager salary, often scraping together rent money at the last possible moment, eating ramen for dinner and vending machine food for lunch.

Moving forced me to learn how to live on my own, to put myself out there and make new friends, to go out on the town by myself and explore the world outside my door.

My parents loved me very much, but as their oldest daughter I was eager to please them. I never dated, never went out, was always at home trying to be helpful whenever I wasn’t spending long hours at work. My father is a very controlling sort of fellow, so I never wanted to test the boundaries at home. I mean, I was staying there rent free . . . and they were my parents . . .

But I was stifling there. I HAD to move out. There was a world out there I wanted to see . . . and besides, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to date anyone under the watch eyes of my dad – as protective of his “little” daughters as he was . . .

So one October weekend, I packed up my stuff into a small van and threw myself out on my own, jumping out of the warm, cozy nest, hoping that I could one day spread my wings and fly.

Fast forward almost fourteen years, and here I am. I’ve still got a lot of work to do in the confidence department, but somehow I managed to eventually get my own apartment, go through a few jobs, meet some amazing people, do some fun and fascinating things, get married to a very cool person, and have a pretty easy-going, interesting life.

Having wings means being open to risk – to put yourself out there high in the air with nothing but hard ground below and just see what happens. To thrust yourself out in the world with an idea of where you are going, but depending on which way the wind blows, you could end up anywhere. Sometimes you fall – and that really hurts! A wing breaks and you have to put yourself through the hard work of healing . . . and then somehow work up the nerve try to fly again.

It may be easier to stay in the nest, but in the long run it is always better to use those wings and try to fly.

3 comments:

gautami tripathy said...

"Having wings means being open to risk – to put yourself out there high in the air with nothing but hard ground below and just see what happens."

Life is to be undertaken that way only.

Keep writing.

Regina Clare Jane said...

An excellent post for today's prompt! I never thought I would fly as far as I did, but I am all the better for it! Sounds like you, too!

CS said...

Oh, man - I am so with the thoughts in this post right now. Thanks.