I stepped off a cliff.
I can’t say I wasn’t warned. There was an illustrated danger sign dutifully placed by the path. But I also can’t really say I chose to take that fateful step.
I saw the cliff. I walked towards it slowly and surprisingly steadily until there was nothing beneath my feet. I didn’t know how to stop.
The thing about flying is that I never really intended to do that either. I just kind of found myself moving through the air.
Why would I choose to fly? It makes me distant to people I want to be close to, and forces me to hide the one thing that makes me special.
Sure, I’m better at chasing pigeons now than I was in the park as a wee boy. But that’s no consolation. They’re free, here in this wild and lonely place. I’m not.
I can’t let anybody see my wings. I know they’re there and I’m the only one who needs to know. As far as everyone else is concerned, I remain unexceptional.
So don’t, whatever you do, imagine for a second that stepping off a cliff can lead to a happy ending.