Fledgling

I had to read "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin in AP English. I thought it was good. In fact, I think I told people for several years thereafter that it was one of my favorite books. You know, the book about the woman on a summer vacation that swims a lot? I re-read it two years ago. WHAT WAS I THINKING? It's about a woman who ignores her kids, has affairs, eats bon-bons and then commits suicide by swimming into the ocean after she realizes she's made a royal mess of her own life. How did I miss all that in high school? (It must run in the family since my own sister, after seeing "The Sound of Music" no less than thirty times growing up, called me after she was married and said, "Did you know that movie was about the Nazis?!!") So "The Awakening" is a crazy, nutso book, however, I did really enjoy this little snippet and have never forgotten it:

“Well, for instance, when I left her to-day, she put her arms around me and felt my shoulder blades, to see if my wings were strong, she said. `The bird that would soar must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.'”

“Whither would you soar?”

“I'm not thinking of any extraordinary flights. I only half comprehend her.”

“I've heard she's partially demented,” said Arobin.

“She seems to me wonderfully sane,” Edna replied.

I think about this every time I hug someone and their shoulder blades protrude. I think, "Yep. They're growing wings. Strong person. Lots in store for them." Stinking Edna Pontillier!

That same year of high school I also took statistics (only because I was afraid calculus would ruin my 4.0). Jake Giessman and Dave Clark, makers of supreme mix tapes, were also in my class. Somehow I borrowed one of the tapes they made for the other and it had Blues Traveler's "Fledgling" on Side B. I loved that song. I still do, even though John Popper gets a little crazy in the third verse. I love the lyrics. It's about a new and naturally weak baby bird that is afraid to raise his head and take on the world. Fledgling stops his crying, spreads his wings and falls out of the nest that has grown too small for him. Inches before death he flies and finds the freedom he was born for. Then he takes on the heavens and rules his minions up there. A heavenly flight is better than an earthly nest.

I continue to assimilate Blues Traveler and Kate Chopin. Isn't it obvious?

No more head down, no more crying and self-pity for This Fledgling. I feel like I'm on the edge of something great. I feel like my shoulder blades are ready for soaring. I've been in this nest ten years and it doesn't feel feathery and comfort zoney anymore. I believe I'm ready for a big jump. I know it because I feel it, and my heart never lies. Greg and I have a plan. It's taken ten years to figure out the plan, but I think that was actually part of the plan. I keep reminding myself that part of Fledgling's path is falling, falling, almost dying, more falling and fear...and then comes the photo finish. I can do this. I can do this. It will be worth it. I want minions, not a bigger nest.