It’s graduation season, and today is Throwback Thursday. Here is something I wrote my senior year in college, and it’s a little bit of both.
Flashback: May 2010
A butterfly is beautiful, delicate and free. Each is unique. Their rainbow patterns differ one from the other. Each sways gracefully with an everlasting hope to fly with the help of a breeze.
As I sit here in silence, every sound comes into focus. The beat of my heart, the air in my lungs, the hum of the refrigerator and the typing on computers of those around me are clearer than before. I am at the chrysalis stage of my life. My cocoon is ready to break. I’m looking forward for that day, but anxiety holds me captive.
I have no idea of what is ahead. I can barely gather the thoughts whirling through my mind now; much less gather the thoughts for my unexpected future.
Gravity binds my feet to the ground, but I still mange to lose my balance, stumble and fall. If I cannot manage to walk firmly with legs given to me at birth, how can I ever summon the courage to use wings that will help me fly?
I long for wings that will liberate me from this cell. I want to live a life full of promise where failure is unheard of. I dream of a place where success spreads like warm rays of sunshine on your skin.
My cocoon is soft, safe, comforting, but a cocoon is merely a season. It is temporary. It is here and then gone.
I have never found joy in activities involving heights, such as rock climbing and skydiving. It is logical to stand on the ground. Towering places frighten me.
I say defying gravity is pure nonsense, but wings I still seek.
Water. Fruit. Backpack. I sit here in this bland room where no color, no music, and no inspiration lingers.
I admire you, the ever so glowing and dazzling butterfly. You are so small, so fragile. How do you summon the courage to fly through a world so large? Do you not see the dark peril? Do you not see the lurking terror?
Beat. Inhale. Exhale. Humming. Tap.
Water. Fruit. Backpack.
Enormous brown dirt we call mountains, towering structures we call buildings, the butterfly does not tremble at your sight. She soars higher and higher because she knows that only through a bird’s view can you see the whole picture.
Strong and brave most magnanimous butterfly, I understand your wisdom. I know now why you fly.
I’m comfortable in this cocoon I call home, but cocoon I’m ready to break free. Winds help my wings soar to reach the sky. Gravity ground me when you know the task is far too great.
To my chrysalis, I bid my farewell. Thank you for your nurturing help.
The chrysalis is the stage of learning and thought. The butterfly is the student on her way out.