Project Paper Birds

A couple months, ago my nieces and I built a little fort in the brush behind my house, or started to, rather. I spent a lot of time in the woods growing up—and still do, though the trail in my neighborhood was ruined by a storm about a year ago. This was one of my favorite pastimes: working on a home with dirt floors and stick ceilings. But you know what’s funny? I think clearing out the land is the simple part. It’s more physically demanding, sure. But the objective is straightforward, and the end is tangible. Figuring out what to build and how to build it? That’s a highly conscious task. 

Despite acknowledging several times over I’m in the “learning how to live” phase, it wasn’t till yesterday on my evening walk, studying the treeline that I realized I’m IN the clearing. There’s been less to talk about in therapy, and I’ve felt an itch to change that, staring at the ground on high alert for any bit of bramble or green to be eradicated. But as it turns out, what I thought was an invisible blockade between me and my future was really just the fear of my responsibility over the present. 

And it IS scary. I’ve known for a long time the only person who can save me is myself. And if you had to dig your way out of a hole on the edge of town, it only makes sense no one’s waiting to guide you back when you get out. But, as I’ve rested after the climb, I think a part of me was expecting some kind of cosmic map to light up the sky. No such compass has appeared.

That’s not to say I haven’t had any guardrails: new, positive belief systems and grounding people have been immensely helpful. But there was something very liberating yesterday realizing I’m not waiting on the universe—it’s waiting on me.

Anyway…hope you liked my allegories.