I think they were afraid to let me fly. Scared that if I left the ground it would expose their inner fear of leaving the ground. My flight would expose the fact that they were actually the ones that were supposed to teach me how to fly, but for one reason or the other, they could never leave the ground.

As life passed there was this voice inside that always told me that I was meant to fly, even nudging me toward the edge, daring me to take flight. Second guessing, listening, asking around, and running the idea by my friends, I wondered if the idea was just gas or something I ate, or someone else’s dream.

Then, I realized that the voice inside never quieted, and as much as I tried to silence it away, flying was always in the back of my head. As I got older, I could see more and more people in the distance leaving the ground, some even soaring so high they looked like ants with wings. They flew higher until they disappeared.

Realizing that I still had time and the desire to fly, I stood, looked up, and found inspiration in all those who left the ground. Still hesitant about what I might be leaving behind and about what dreams I might fail to find out there in open space, my fear tempted to keep me from leaving the ground.

Then, one day they returned telling stories of what it feels like to fly and what the world looks like from the sky. They said, all those mountains seem so small from way up there. Come on, just try it. Fly!” Since I figured that I could always find my way back home, I turned to all those people whispering warnings in my ear and said, “excuse me while I fly.”