It is sunny today. (Some other today!) I am on my balcony watching birds fly. The sky is blue everywhere, unharried by even a wisp of cloud. There are sailboats on the water and there is snow on the mountaintops. The gentle breeze is friendly, ruffling the tiny hairs on my exposed skin.
Although it is before noon, I have indulged. I am inspired by a smidgen of whiskey and the smoky vapour of a cigar of unknown heritage. (I drank from a new crystal beaker my Bride purchased for me to celebrate my existence.) Sensitized by their appeal, I can see my life experience stream like an indie film before my eyes.
I am watching how the birds launch themselves into empty space, beating their wings strongly until they catch a current, an unseen wave they sense will carry them forward. Then they glide, onward and upward. They fly singly or in flocks. Those flying together know well the strength and advantage that lies in union. Isn’t that always a better idea if it can be managed?
I think back to my youth, my life path, and extrapolate to the lives of younger people, and those not so young. I recall how I launched myself into the unknown – so eager to be off on my own that I was heedless there were any dangers. Some of us hung back and had to be encouraged into flight by our near and dear. Some of us traveled in packs. Some of us remained a long time on the home perch. Some had their departures well-planned, orchestrated by vision or friends and family.
For those of us who took off, we sometimes had to walk before we could fly, we had to work hard to get to the take-off point. This might have been particularly true for those of us who were the children of immigrants, of ethnic minorities often discriminated against. When we did make it off the ground, how proud we were to be sailing in the wind of life under our own power. It was great to feel the lift of independence under our wings. It gave us energy.
We were always looking for that wave that would propel us forward. We didn’t always find it. For many of us it was work, work, work, just to stay on an even keel. We squared our shoulders and kept on keeping on. We couldn’t help seeing others on their flights ahead of us, wishing we could also really soar.
How did we learn to fly? How did we know we could? Surely, we watched others, our parents, friends, people we knew. Some of us crashed and burned, a few of us never even tried – the grapevine and the media brought us the news of these events daily. We felt the downdrafts as well as updrafts and we all had our share of scary moments. For some of us, more than our share! But most of us kept on moving, looking to gain enough speed for lift-off.
And many of us eventually did take off. We got to feel the exhilaration of flight, to feel the current we had caught through effort and attention to the tasks at hand. When we stopped to think, it was great to relish and feel the momentum we had attained, to appreciate the distance we had traveled. It was great to contemplate the things we could look forward to if we kept on flying.
Sustaining the effort on the trip was never something one could take for granted – not all of us are built for distance. When I watch flocks of birds flying south for the winter, I am always mindful that each member takes a turn at the head so the leader can rest. Most of us do not have volunteers to take a turn at the head of our efforts to get ahead, to accomplish the tasks we have set ourselves. It is almost always totally up to us alone. It is always so special when there is a partner at the ready with a helping hand. Lucky, lucky, lucky! We have to be open to that.
I am one of the lucky ones. Coming to the end of my journey, closer every day, I can see that now. The wounds I have sustained along the way, many of them self-inflicted, have not proved fatal to this point. I can rest on my perch more often and watch the passing parade.
The flights that remain for me to take are more measured and more likely to be in the thick of a flock. I am complacent when overtaken and passed by the many more eager flyers. Sometimes, I am more concerned about our companions who have fallen behind. We are spending more time in the planning for others than in the doing for ourselves. And, I do have a partner ready to give a hand. Lucky, lucky, lucky!
Max Roytenberg is a Vancouver-based poet, writer and blogger. His book Hero in My Own Eyes: Tripping a Life Fantastic is available from Amazon and other online booksellers.