Dear Internet Void

14 Sep

Dear Internet Void,

I have been thinking a lot lately. About birds.

I have a long-standing fascination with the grace and beauty of birds in flight. I also have a jealous pang when I see them against the endless blue sky. I wish I could fly.

I have had the wings to fly my entire life. As a child I loved to explore and try new things. I remember when my mom helped me purchase and plant a “Beginner’s Garden” kit and how thrilling it was for me to see each new shoot sprout from the ground. I remember trying to make a dress for my doll using mom’s sewing machine around the age of 7. She let me do it and I learned quickly that without a pattern or knowledge of the machine it was a useless attempt. But she let me fly.

Since I have been married I have flown some more. I learned how to cook balanced meals by experimenting with recipes and various spices. I taught myself to sew so I could create basic clothing and quilts. Pretty much anything related to homemaking I can freely fly about and discover, but when it comes to some things I am passionate about, my wings have been clipped.

Is it because I allow them to be?

I realize that I have made the choices that bring me to where I am in my life. I could never go back and change these decisions, but that is okay.  There has been much good. Many flying moments.

When it comes to music, I have an inner fire that drives me to learn more – but with clipped wings, I can not fly. I have other things that I need to attend to. I can not allow music to consume me or it will bring difficulty to those I love.

I suppose that even in an anonymous letter that is not read by anyone who can identify me, my wings are clipped. There is fear that my words could somehow be discovered, that someone could break the privacy barrier and know who is really writing.  Not just some anonymous, unknown writer, but Me.  Because of this, I do not write of the things which I truly desire to write about.  I hate that.

Clipped wings. I’m caged.

Writing has been a tremendous outlet for me since elementary school. There was never a threat that someone would read my diaries – no one was interested. Now, I no longer write as I truly desire to. I can not put into words the thoughts of hopelessness and fear and longing for something more. I keep them to myself and hope that someday, when I am no longer a part of this life, the words I have written in more private places will be buried with me. And that everything will work out fine.

I suppose it does not matter if this makes no sense. It does to me.

This caged bird is restless. I have wings. I want to fly.

It’s like Kathleen Kelly writes in “You’ve Got Mail”:

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, not small, but circumscribed. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around?

I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void.”

So, Void, Thanks for reading.


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