Make the Leap - Part 2

When a transformed caterpillar emerges from a chrysalis, does it know it has become a butterfly capable of flight, or does it have to make a leap of faith from the empty husk? I don’t know the answer but I am sure of this: some of us are butterflies and don’t know it.

Some of us walk this earth yearning to make a leap toward our dreams, to swap routine existences for passionate futures. But we hesitate. We falter. We don’t stand on the ground of monochrome lives, we drop to all fours and cling. We do this because no one has told us that our life experiences—the passions and desires, the lessons learned, the seemingly unconnected events—have cradled us in a translucent chrysalis that can only be viewed in hindsight.

This unseen chamber cloaks us as we journey through life in mundane jobs, expected roles, and little boxes where we answer to labels of someone else’s creation. But at some point, the metamorphosis is complete. We’ve grown vibrant wings. We’ve transformed into luminescent creatures who are meant to fly if we realize we possess the power. And those individuals who aren’t butterflies yet? Give them a little time.

I’ve been testing my wings lately, getting ready to make a leap. Only recently have I discovered their existence. Only in the last year did I realize their strength. Now, I’ve learned they’re ready to support me as I leap to fly toward my intended destination.

In Make the Leap - Part 1, I wrote I’d share the dreams I’d set aside. Here goes…

Dreams are sometimes hard to recognize. They disguise themselves as fun activities one loves to do, especially when young. For me, I loved two activities in particular. The first was pretending to fly. I was that kid who tucked the bright red bath towel into the collar of his shirt. Sporting it, I’d dash through the house and out the backdoor to leap from the top step to emerald grass below. There, I ran hard to conjure enough wind to lift my crimson cape so it billowed behind me. I was so fast the cape kept slipping out. That or I was a slipshod towel tucker. Mom saved the day with my infant brother’s diaper pins. It was the first time I realized little brothers may be good for something. At least their stuff was.

Running turned to jumping. I spent hours leaping off whatever I could climb, anything of great height to a seven-year-old. Picnic tables came first. My best friend and I took turns leaping off, even pushing each other off the wooden slats to gain extra sky time, until he landed wrong and broke a leg. This forced me to pursue the leaping adventure on my own.

Tree limbs were next. Any tree considerate enough to grow low branches within grasp of a running jump were new best friends. I graduated to leaping out hayloft doors from the second stories of neighboring barns. Hay bales cushioned the sudden stops. As I grew, so did the heights. Haylofts were replaced by high-dives at summer pools. Springboards flung me further into the sky where, for brief moments, I convinced myself I was flying.

Truth be known, I harbored hope that one day, if I had faith… if I let go and believed… I would soar upward instead of splash back down. While this type of “flying” granted the skills necessary to walk onto my college diving team and walk away with a letter jacket, it never gave me the true skills I wanted: flying high above the earth, soaring between clouds on my own power. I eventually realized learning to fly a plane was the closest I’d get, at least for the time being. Pretending to fly led to the dream of learning to fly a plane. You’d think when I realized this, I rushed right out and began to learn, right?

Nope.

I graduated from college and entered the workforce or the real world, a destination that seemed to have low tolerance for lofty dreams. It didn’t help I had no money. But when the day came I did have money. Did I rush out and learn then?

Nope.

Life got in the way. I forgot about flying, forgot about that adventure. Instead of “making a leap,” my attention turned to “making a living.” But there was always a small nag within me, a wayward voice whispering, “You’re supposed to be doing something else.”

And then, one crisp Tuesday morning against a brilliant blue backdrop of sky, I watched an airplane pierce the World Trade Center on live television. Shaken, I had the sudden realization life was shorter than I thought. I’d been sleepwalking for the last 12 years. I wasn’t anywhere near my true purpose in life, and worse, I didn’t know what it was. I made up my mind then, no matter how long it took, I would find that purpose. And whenever I did, I’d pursue it to the fullest. Looking inward, flipping through the pages of my memories, I remembered the things I once loved to do, things I wanted to do.

One of them was flying. My young son, John, had taken an interest in the PBS Kids show, Jay Jay the Jet Plane. As his fascination with flight grew, my own magical memories of flight returned. I didn’t know if flying a plane was my purpose in life, but I leapt toward it anyway because I trusted if the passion was there, the details would sort themselves.

I mentioned there were two activities I loved when young. Writing was the other fun, time-bending activity for me. In second grade, I penned a story titled The Day the Dinosaurs Came Back. Jurrasic Park author, Michael Crichton, had nothing to fear from me but it’s fun to think I had the idea fifteen years before his book slid onto the shelves. Of course, Mr. Crichton probably had the idea 20 years before that.

In third grade, I had a story published in the city paper courtesy of a county-wide writing contest I won. Maybe no one entered. But you’d think at some point I’d have wondered if writing was my future?

Nope.

Except for some song lyrics in high school, I didn’t write anything else creatively for 27 years, not until after 9/11. There had been a few times where I’d read good books and thought, I can do that, but never did anything about it. I don’t think I did anything with the writing or flying because some in society don’t place much value on what is fun, only what makes money. It took a rude awakening to realize I didn’t care what society thought anymore.

So I started writing for fun at first, keeping journals to see what emerged. Finally, I made the leap and pitched my first article idea to a magazine, which was accepted. What was my first published piece? An installment series chronicling my flight training for an aviation magazine. It’s strange how those two unrelated activities wove together to produce something greater. Or was it simply part of my growth, two seemingly unconnected events forming gossamer threads of an unseen chrysalis, transforming me in ways I couldn’t understand until now?

Are you a butterfly, but don’t know it? Have you grown wings you’ve never stopped to notice? Do you simply need to determine which direction to fly? If so, think about what you once loved to do. How did you have fun? What made you feel alive? The answer is there.

And for those who don’t feel their wings are formed yet, hang in there. The universe is on your side. The moment is approaching when you’ll slip from your chrysalis. leap into the air, and fly toward your dreams. It’s what you are meant to do.