Monday, August 31, 2015

What the F*&k does a bird have to do with Abandonment?

2015-08-25-1440528085-3468265-IMG_5977.PNGWhen I was young I was a huge lovey-dovey, gregarious type of kid. My mother has told me stories of how she had to awkwardly apologize to the kids in the fast food lines after I had invited multiple strangers, children, and pedophiles to my upcoming birthday party with my address.

Then shit got real. I grew up.... I was about six.

I dropped that mushy sweetness like a crinkled and warn knapsack that was no longer able to carry the weight of all the expectations I had for it.

I gave up on ideals. I learned that nothing ever turns out the way you think. Most importantly, I released everyone from being responsible for nurturing or caring for me. That way, I couldn't get hurt when no one showed up. Or, so I thought.
I abandoned those people who felt "suspiciously loving" towards me before they could bolt. Obviously, that's what anyone does when you feel safe loving him or her, no?

That was my mind's truest belief. I lived a life that followed those rules directly, and because of that, I have lived.I've been completely alone, scared and without hope. Yet, there are the times that my blood was flowing like white-hot electricity. I did risk. I did reckless abandon. I did act as if I was tough, and strong and independent. I believed it. Truly.

The thing is: I needed to. How would I have survived and processed being unattended to so often in my formative years if I didn't convince myself that I was "special" and "stronger" and super "grown up" in comparison?

The problem with acting so strong and independent is that no one offers to help. If you are "Faking it to make it" and you are convincing then something crazy happens.... People believe you, and thus, no one offers to help. Even if they did, I refused or politely evaded it and they would give up. That's rational.

Nothing really scared me. Not on the surface at least; and certainly not anything that surely scares other people. That would be rational. I never did rational well.In the past year, I've traveled the precarious slopes and valleys of failure, public humiliation and a mass exodus of "friends."
Ironically, I'm more grateful, more hopeful and even more unafraid. Instead of berating myself for being so full of fear and fake and obnoxiously unwilling to accept help, I have found a way to look back and think: 
"Thank you, Abandonment Issues, for the useful defense mechanisms and the deep fear of almost everything. You've served me well, but I'll take it from here. Truly, I wouldn't be here without you. Cheers."
My heart leads and my rational mind has a deep latency. This has changed severely since having kids, but still exists within me. I don't really buy into labels of what it means to be "rational" or "irrational." Ultimately, most people are making those distinctions solely on the belief system they have of what "rational" means to them.

That's for the birds. Actually, even the birds wont take it, because a bird lives in the visceral. She operates in the thick richness of feeling. A bird has instincts. Instincts are another word for intuition. The instincts she is born with include but are not limited to: the intuition of knowing which way to migrate, having the ability and urge to sing or call for mating.

It is that very instinct she had to leap out of a high-perched nest into thin air! Did she go to "fly-training school?" No. Did she read up on all the new-aged aerodynamics of fowl travel? No. Did she have an app to remind her to be brave with affirmations? No. Maybe she watched a YouTube video on "proper landing and dismount techniques?" Something like that, right? Wrong. I came across an incredible poem by Erin Hanson that conjured an image in my mind.

What would be rational for a baby bird to do if she did not know she could fly? It's a serious question. Imagine we all just magically appeared in a forest. No recollection of anything except instincts. No memory, no language, nada. That's right- you, me, a bird, an ostrich, a peacock. (I love them.) And, throw in a dog or two. No hamsters, rats or pigeons. We're all vegetarian, btw. So there.
Anyway, would you base your advice for the bird on how you perceive yourself?
As in- If you are human, and disappointingly, you weren't included with wings. Therefore, if you fall from twenty feet, you get hurt. Rationally speaking, you would advise that bird not to leap, its dangerous and/or stupid. But what if the bird took no one's subjective advice to heart and gave no
heeding caution to what others were doing in comparison? 

What if that sweet little fear-ridden, conflicted baby girl-bird got quiet and listened to her inner guide? (Whatever you define that as.) What if she was lead only by her heart singing it's song and the courage springing up in her soul?

That bird would choose intuition over whatever other confusing sensations going against it, and after it's mother leaped out, she would hop to the edge. i bet her heart-rate would increase but she would trust, I said trust in her feelings and instincts to jump.
We know how that little leap of faith ends.

Do you think the bird felt self-pity? (Have you seen GI-Jane? - kidding. Not kidding.) No one said it's easy or simple. Where did we get the idea that growth is easy, or comfortable, or convenient?
I had growing pains- physically and otherwise as a child. Ask a tween boy in middle school if it's easy to grow into puberty!

Moving on, moving out, advancing to the next evolutionary step or passage of stages in our lives is not meant to be comfortable and pretty. Its quite silly that anyone or almost everyone somehow feels entitled to both the ability to be "evolving" and the right to have it come without pain, fear, judgment, accusations, alleged insanity or selfishness.


Be a bird. Trust. Open up. You'll dive, float, fall, get ruffled and maybe loose your cookies a few times... but then,
You'll soar.


"Shimmer with a smile. Life is hard, bloom anyway." 
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