I am the girl with the injured wing. Since I was a very small child, I dreamed of flying. Not on airplanes or in gliders, but in the living of my life. I would lay still on a large flat rock that jutted out into a small pond near my house, and stare up at the blue, the sounds of insects and birds and water filtering through my fantasies. I imagined all the things I would do as I grew, every adventure and each novel task. I couldn’t wait for my life to start. Being so young, it never occurred to me that it already had begun and my youth would find it’s way into the telling of my stories in much later years.
In truth, I am always in flight. From place to place, and time to time, both to and from myself. I am happiest in a flurry of wings and sky, endless horizons and the thrill of it all. I thrill in small things and interactions, I delight in massive undertakings and the ways in which each thing in turn pushes me, enriches me and challenges me to be more.
For so long I have lived around the edges of my limited body. I leap into the abyss without thinking, I run and fly at life until I drop. I gave up waiting for a cure and I learned to block out the pain that accompanies me so I can fully encounter my world, instead of waiting on the sidelines and wishing.
I hate that. I don’t like the feeling of being vulnerable and limited, but that is a part of life. Some days we can fly to the moon and leave footprints behind us. Other days we must content ourselves with nursing broken wings and leaving soft traces in our wake. Sometimes even my fiercest face can not keep me in the game and I am forced for a while to be still and heal. Yes, I am the girl with the injured wing. For now I’ll try to be peaceful and take the lesson in this moment. I’ll lean back into the softness of my swing, let the air around me fill my senses and stare up into the blue. I am the girl with the injured wing and one day I’ll fly again.