Some time ago, I saw a Robin walking down the street. He weighed about nine pounds, I am guessing. "Why are you walking?" I asked him.

"Well," he told me, "I'm trying to get some of this weight off."

"I did notice that you are kind of heavy," I told him, "but I'm wondering, why don't you just fly?"

"Fly?"

"Yes, why don't you fly?"

"Are you crazy," he said, "I have never flown before."

"Really?" I asked him. "Never? What is your name?"

"My name is Terry," he told me.

 

Mercy. I will tell you that the first time I read a version of this parable, it struck a chord...  

Because there are many reasons I don't fly.

Or choose not too.

Or remain stuck, trapped, imprisoned, constricted, confined. It is too easy to just "go through the motions."

And if I'm honest, I could fill up a few pages with what I didn't say, or what I didn't do.

 

I talk big. I know that life is an inexorable pull toward love, beauty, passion, delight, longing, disquiet, hunger, wildness, appetite, creativity and hope in a future beyond our limited present.  

In my heart I know.

It's just that this week I felt like a 9-pound Robin... afraid to fly.

 

Not that there aren't plenty of voices urging and admonishing me to live this "abundant life." (It's just that with their tone of voice it always feels like they are trying to sell me something similar to an infomercial Veg-o-matic.)

 

Here's the deal: we've been led to believe (or we have assumed, or we have hoped) that this real life--the abundant one where we get to fly--happens only after there is tidiness or certitude. (Lord knows you don't want to admit to any uncertainty or doubt or brokenness--say, an inability to fly--especially of a personal or spiritual nature. You know, "I used to struggle with that problem, but, of course, not anymore." "When did you quit struggling?" "About an hour ago.")  

 

Our need for tidiness (orderliness, fastidiousness, agreeableness, perfection) comes in many forms:

--if we are stuck, we want answers 

The irony?  While we are focusing our energy on what is "missing," we are unable to see the beauty and abundance--and wings--that are already here.

 

In a study done in Iowa, graduate students followed a normal two-year-old child throughout a day. They observed that the child was told what not to do 432 times, as opposed to 32 positive invitations or acknowledgments.

From knee high to a grasshopper we are taught the limits of perfection versus the power of discovery.

No wonder we are stuck... in a world of unwillingness to take risks, frustration and anxiety, excessive control, excessive judgment of self and others.

What is our alternative? A willingness to try to do whatever is intentional, an invitation to fascination, delight and spontaneity, and a celebration of self and others.

His dream started when he was in college. Jeffrey Coale wanted to own a restaurant. Training in cooking and restaurant management helps, but so does money. So Jeffrey Coale went at it methodically. He worked for a number of years as a government bond trader on Wall Street. At night, he attended classes at the French Culinary Institute.

He quit trading and took a job as an apprentice chef at the Louis XV restaurant in Monte Carlo. Next, he returned to New York to work at the Alain Ducasse restaurant. Wanting to refine his understanding of the wine side of the business, he then took a dream job as an assistant wine master at Windows on the World, at the top of the World Trade Center North Tower, in August, 2001.

Meanwhile, Mr. Coale, 31, sifted around for a location for his restaurant. He had looked at several properties in Greece and New York.  

"He left really good money to make $10 an hour at Windows," said Leslie Brown, his sister. "But Jeff never settled for something. He always followed his passion."

Jeffrey died on 9/11.

Tragedy? Yes.

Someone wrote that there are many tragedies in life, but dying young while living a passionate life is not one of them. As Paul Harvey would say, "here's the rest of the story..." After Jeffrey's death, reflecting on that devotion, two friends switched to jobs that better suited their own true interests. Two other friends broke off unsatisfying relationships. In memory of Mr. Coale, they are going to follow their passions.

 

Maybe that's where we get stuck. We've been invited to fly... but somewhere along the way we've been told that. . .

. . .we are not enough

. . .we are small and not sufficiently gifted

. . .we are carried by the winds of public opinion

. . .our identity is owned by shame

. . .we owe it to someone to be perfect

. . .we seem at the mercy of our grief or our rage

 

So it's not about flying if only or when. It's about flying now.

I guess the question is this: What is the gift I currently hold in exile?

And what if we try this flying thing, and it doesn't work out so well?

 

A man is hanging on the edge of a cliff.  By his fingertips.  He understandably fears for his life.  Another man happens along, notices the man and his predicament. 
"Thank God," says the man hanging.  "Please sir, can you help me?" 
"I am sorry. I'm afraid I am unable to save you," says the gentleman.  "But I do have some advice.  When you do fall, look to your right, the view is magnificent."