From my window I can see a tree, it’s branches swaying in the wind. It’s early Spring, and the branches are budding but still empty of it’s coming greenery.
High up is a crow’s nest, swaying perilously in this ever-moving dance. Yes, the trees do dance, with a rhythmic movement, elegant and supple. Yet, the nest never seems to loose its balance in the movement. Even in the violence of high winds it remains in the place where it was built. It’s some solid fixture, surely made of something harder and durable than twigs and grass and whatever else is there. It must be made of something more sturdy than the flimsy materials that the birds use. And yet, there it is, immoveable, only trembling gently in the thin branches.
As I look at the nest, I feel that it is, somehow, like me. Of all the things that have happened to me over the years, no matter how flimsy the matter of my being may seem, I’m still here. From the painful shyness of my very young self; to the moments of seeing the deaths of loved ones that have left me feeling stranded; to the ill-health that has left me with not much independence in the stretching out of my life.
And yet, here I am, still swaying in the flimsy branches of life, yet somehow a solid and immoveable object. How did it get to be that I gained the strength I have from the little I seemed to have all those years ago?
Life has, too often, felt like a punishment rather than a joy. A prison cell, for those lacking in durability and stability, to be kept out of the sight of those who would rather not know that people like me exist. The blinding light of reality has kept me in that prison cell for many years, in fear of being overly exposed, from those who might ridicule that flimsy being that is me.
Yes, fear. Fear of being me. The fear of being judged. The fear of… fear.
Then one day, when I had become sick of being afraid, when I was happy to break free of that prison that fear had made, I took a step outside. Outside my comfort zone. Then the fear was of not knowing what would happen next. Was I good enough to make this step? The only way of knowing, was to take another step, and then another, and then to keep walking.
Then the fear gently and quietly began to fade. Fear was being replaced with curiosity and interest. Then, little by little, I began to enjoy it. I tripped over my feet quite a number of times. But, through all that life was giving me, and throwing at me, I was able to see the reason for leaving that prison cell.
All those years of holding on, getting up and dusting myself down, all the years of carrying on despite adversity, despite personal problems, despite what others thought of me — I was learning about myself. I was gaining my own personal strength.
As I look at the crow’s nest, I think of all the people I’ve known who have remained strong in hard and difficult times. Family, friends, some still here, some long gone — but all an inspiration for a life to be lived.
The crow’s nest still wavers in the wind, but it endures — cradled by the tree that holds it. It is a well-formed and well-made piece of architecture, built with the experience of time and labour. It endures.
This article was originally published on Medium.
Charlotte Clark 