Flying Free

A memory came to me the other day and in a rush of realisation I had a moment of clarity. I saw that I had repeated that memory in reoccurring situations throughout my life. This specific memory was at high school. Our religious education teacher and choir/musicals director (they never did straight drama, she loved to sing) was holding auditions for the annual production, which was going to be The Sound of Music.

I was sixteen and wished more than anything that I could sing well enough to be in a musical, I wanted to be on that stage. But instead I herded down to her basement classroom and stood on the steps and watched the other girls audition, like an outsider looking in. Like an orphan child looking through the window of a sweet shop, wishing she could be one of the kids in there choosing from the amazing assortment of sweets that sat deliciously in tubs behind the counter.

I’ve realised that my life has taken on this pattern of looking in at what I deem others to have that I don’t, which makes them more talented, more confident, better placed to achieve their dreams. My hopes were like caged birds inside my chest and whilst I watched others go forth and conquer, my little caged birds would rise up from their perch, flutter their wings and beg to be free. I just never thought they would ever fly as well as the others. So whilst my heart races to be and do what I love, my body stands frozen to the spot. Who wants to see a little bird fly, when they can see a big bird soar?

I am an excuse maker and my excuses generally revolve around my perceived inadequacy. I can’t talk like that, I can’t walk like that, I can’t sing like that, I can’t dance like that, I can’t act like that, I’m not skinny enough, I don’t have dimples, I don’t have L’Oreal “because you’re worth it” hair, I just don’t have the pedigree they desire or require.

But there has been a slow rising of rebellion inside of me, an awakening of self worth that is demanding my time and attention. My little caged birds are furiously pecking their way to freedom and soon will burst out and fly without stopping for pure joy of release.

You see, I may not talk, walk, sing, dance or act like they do. I may not be the skinniest in the pack and I may not have dimples and long swishy hair… but I can talk like me, walk like me, sing like me, I can dance like me and I can act like me. And my uneven dodgy haircut is cute, thanks very much! So whilst my struggle with feeling like the orphan child, always on the outside looking in continues, so does my personal rebellion against the lie that I am inadequate. I am, after all, me and God made me. So therefore, like you, me is all I need to be.

Who are they anyway?

By Glenda Robinson