Penguins and Freedom
I saw a little video about penguins that asked how they have survived. They seem like hobbling, clumsy creatures.
I then realized they are one of the most poetic creatures. They are birds, so, technically, they belong in the sky–but they cannot fly. They breathe air, so their next option is to live on the ground—but they have short, clumsy legs. They can't breathe underwater—but that is where they soar. They are torn between three elements and thrive in the least likely of them. Beautiful.
In other news, freedom is such a finicky thing. In so many cases, it's right at our fingertips, but we fear so much. We fear feelings or failure or loneliness or loss or any number of terrible or mild calamities, and so we relinquish freedom for a safe-feeling discomfort. It's like trying to fall asleep in a position that hurts most of your limbs, but you got tired of flipping and flopping. I can't tell you how much freedom I've spurned because I feared. God's working on me.
In other other news, Michael's story has taken such wonderful turns! His travels were originally just an exercise in freedom, for I didn't want to worry about plot or sense or logic or anything. Almost of his own accord, he has pulled in a world around himself like some inevitable orbit—and the world makes sense, a vivid, wild sense.
In other^3 news, tutoring is going swimmingly. Often when I share about my business, people keep suggesting I should be a teacher. I am not a teacher for the very reason that I want to teach. I have no fondness for bureaucracy or helicopter parents or entitled children. Rather, I love teaching. Teach: yes. Teaching: yes. Teacher: no.
In other^4 news, it had been such a long time since I properly rambled in no particular direction that I almost forgot how. After I talked about penguins, I wrote, deleted, hesitated, wrote again, and deleted again because it all felt too rambly. This rambly journal is sometimes like the friend that we all need: the one who will listen to our utter nonsense graciously, without judgement.
I want to fill the world with poetry. I wrote a poem recently!, but I can't share it because it's part of Michael's story. You can have the first stanza:
I then realized they are one of the most poetic creatures. They are birds, so, technically, they belong in the sky–but they cannot fly. They breathe air, so their next option is to live on the ground—but they have short, clumsy legs. They can't breathe underwater—but that is where they soar. They are torn between three elements and thrive in the least likely of them. Beautiful.
In other news, freedom is such a finicky thing. In so many cases, it's right at our fingertips, but we fear so much. We fear feelings or failure or loneliness or loss or any number of terrible or mild calamities, and so we relinquish freedom for a safe-feeling discomfort. It's like trying to fall asleep in a position that hurts most of your limbs, but you got tired of flipping and flopping. I can't tell you how much freedom I've spurned because I feared. God's working on me.
In other other news, Michael's story has taken such wonderful turns! His travels were originally just an exercise in freedom, for I didn't want to worry about plot or sense or logic or anything. Almost of his own accord, he has pulled in a world around himself like some inevitable orbit—and the world makes sense, a vivid, wild sense.
In other^3 news, tutoring is going swimmingly. Often when I share about my business, people keep suggesting I should be a teacher. I am not a teacher for the very reason that I want to teach. I have no fondness for bureaucracy or helicopter parents or entitled children. Rather, I love teaching. Teach: yes. Teaching: yes. Teacher: no.
In other^4 news, it had been such a long time since I properly rambled in no particular direction that I almost forgot how. After I talked about penguins, I wrote, deleted, hesitated, wrote again, and deleted again because it all felt too rambly. This rambly journal is sometimes like the friend that we all need: the one who will listen to our utter nonsense graciously, without judgement.
I want to fill the world with poetry. I wrote a poem recently!, but I can't share it because it's part of Michael's story. You can have the first stanza:
Stretched across a thousand worlds,
His heart near burst to splinters:
Trapped inside a plane of grey,
Entombed in endless winters.
You should write a poem.
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