The Wind Beneath My Wings
There was one person who made me believe I could do it. She made me do it.
When I lost someone and refused to grieve, it was a friend who forced me to cry. I do it readily for soppy movies and books, but when it really mattered, it took a friend.
When I was alone because of the crowd around me, when I was losing myself playing out the roles I was supposed to, it was a friend who made me face the woman in the mirror.
Years later, when in another of those moments I decided to quit my decently paid, on my terms kind of job, the whole world tried to convince me to look at things the rational way. (No have you lost it reactions now-everyone who knows me, knows that I never had “it”, whatever “it’s” supposed to be.) World economics and logic notwithstanding, she told me to go ahead. Guess what I did?
And when half asleep, in the middle of the night, I posted my first blog entry, it was a friend from the opposite corner of the world who wrote back that instant, pointing out a typo in the first line.
If I had the power to make one wish for my kids, this is what I’d wish for them too; that they have friends like I do.
It’s like having a safety net beneath the trapeze. Just knowing they are there gives me the strength to fly.