Break Free From Your Nest.

"Step away from that edge, young bird!" The teacher's stark, reprimanding voice sent me catapulting from my  day dream. "You'll fall to your death."

"Oh! But what if I fly?" I boldly replied.

"That's nonsense. Get your head out of the clouds," she said. "No one's ever done it before. You weren't made to fly. Now sit down, you're disturbing the class."

I challenged her. I was not about to give up so easily. "How do you know I won't soar?"

"Sit down and shut up," the teacher, not in the mood for a debate, exclaimed. "You're putting ideas in the other students' heads. Do you want them growing up believing myths?"

"What if staying nested is a myth?" I asked. Her lectures could not stifle my inspiration.

"Class, listen up," she started in–the teacher did love an audience, "Let me make this explicity clear once and for all. You were not made to fly. The stories you've heard are simply tall tales passed down for ages. Make believe fables. There is no flying. If you leave the nest, there is only dying. Nest life is the best life. What lies beyond the edge of this kingdom is not suited for birds. One foot over the nest's wall and you will plummet to the earth, meeting a most dissatisfying doom. You must stay here and learn. That is your only hope for survival."

I could not take it anymore. No teacher would stifle my dreams.

"But I don't want to survive! I want to glide! I want to feel the wind rushing beneath my wings, to sit atop clouds, to chase lightning bugs on the breeze, and to greet the morning sun with a song from the heights! I must fly! I just must!"

I ran to the edge and threw myself over, hearing gasps followed by an uproar. Then, only the violent rush of wind filling my sinuses and ears.

I hurtled downward picking up speed. Everything around me, a blur. "I might not make it!" The thought rushed to the forefront of my mind. "What if the teacher was right? What if I die?"

"NO!" A roar unlike anything ever produced from my lungs erupted. I don't even know where it came from. The startling noise ushered from my beak caused me to flinch and toss my arms out beside me.

Everything slowed. I could see. Was I not to die after all?

"Wait a second...I'm flying!" I chirped as loudly as a young bird could chirp. Today was not my day to die. Today surely was my day to fly!

 


When a bird flees its nest for the first time, it has no backup plan. It doesn't slink to the edge and assess how far away the ground might be. It doesn't fall from the nest.

It jumps. It spreads its wings. It becomes what it was meant to be.

It flies.

You were meant for more than the safety of your nest.

Take flight today.

 

 

What You Can Do Today

Worry not what the future may hold,
It's present day that is yours to mold.

In the far off land of days yet to come,
You'll arrive only by where you came from.

It matters not what tomorrow may bring,
Today alone can you change anything.

Future value does not yet exist,
Cherish today's before it is missed.

Create what you can wherever you are,
Pack up your bags; it will take you quite far.

Though much of this life lies beyond your control,
Embrace the uncertain and create your own role.

What you do today will be solely your choice,
So go out there boldly, in your labor rejoice!

The Weapons With Which You Wage War

Mine is a pen. Or a keyboard. Or for that matter any method for capturing words and thoughts.

I write. I talk. I ramble. I fall into an unconscionable stream of consciousness.

It's not a flight mechanism. It's my fight response.

Whenever I face difficulty be it in work, in relationships, or any walk of life, I fight my way through it by recording and meditating on my thoughts. Sometimes it's more word vomit than anything else. Sometimes it's regurgitation of ideas I liked that came from someone else. Whatever the case may be, unless or until I work things out for myself I consider surrender as a non-option. Until I've formulated a response from my own mind I've not been true to myself.

It's not just post hoc rationalization or a closing argument of justification. I fight with my ideas. Even the ones that aren't entirely formulated yet. Sometimes you'll find yourself amidst a battle with only a dull sword and that's okay. If that's all you've got just swing harder.

I often equate the creative process to war through use of metaphors and similes. It's the most appropriate description I can fathom. I've never fought in the war. I guess I've been in a few fist fights. Feel free to ask how the other guy faired sometime. But in my mind creating is like war. The most significant difference is that it's a war against self.

Within us all there are features of creativity, of optimism, of hope. There are also the features of destruction, pessimism, and worry. Call it the Angel-Demon complex if you will. I feel that I always have two competing interests constantly doing battle. One drives personal evolution. The other settles for mediocrity or even self-defeat. At times I feel it's okay to give in to either. At other times I feel there's a clearer path for choosing.

But just like any war, when creating there will be casualties. There will be victors and there will be losers. These are simply different, competing versions of yourself. One version of yourself will emerge heralding its success. The other can skulk defeated or it can promise a better rematch down the road.

The choice is yours.

If you choose to make the most of your life you'll be constantly pitted against yourself and not only external forces. You will be faced with the constant decision to choose which voice you wish to follow. One will beckon you toward self-actualization. The other will beckon you toward the status quo, or worse.

It's all about how you choose to assess the battle. You can fight on through 'til the end. You can go home because you ran out of ammo. In your day-to-day it might feel of no consequence. In real war the choice might not be granted. In the war of creativity it's not granted either. Unless you resolve to live an uneventful life, you'll always be forced into action.

Whether you like it or not, if you want to make a dent in the universe, you've got to go into war with the weapons you've got. Sharpen them when the enemy retreats. Otherwise do the best you can with what you've got, where you are, when you are there.

It's not so much about what you walk into battle with. What's more important is that you walk out at all.

So pick up your sword–whatever that is for you–and start hacking away.

How Long Has It Been?

When was the last time you laid in the grass gazing stars,

built a fortress of solitude with furniture and blankets,

slayed an imaginary dragon to save the day,

stayed up too late laughing with friends,

snagged your shirt jumping a fence,

dove into a pond to test the depth,

took a walk out in the rain,

ran barefoot outside,

skinned your knee,

played in the mud,

got lost outside.

How long has it been since you let your inner-child out to play?

It's been too long.

Your spirit longs to break free.

Let it roam wild.


“We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of wonders.” –G.K. Chesterton

About Mitchell


Mitchell is a cowboy turned startup professional and Director of Marketing @ Crash. He’s a former champion meat grader. Author of Don’t Do Stuff You Hate. Narrator of Why Haven’t You Read This Book? And previously Chief of Staff at Ceterus – where he helped scale a team from 20 to 150 while quadrupling revenue.

He’s radical about creating a better future and helping others do the same. Unsolvable problems and conspiracies are his favorite conversation genres. The keys to his heart – fine Bordeaux and Hemingway novels.

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