She went through life trying to find herself. Her chocolate skin was silky smooth, but for as long as forever she thought it wasn’t good enough. Her bubbly hips were the perfect roundness. But for most of her life she had wanted them flatter. Her bountiful bottom was overly bouncy – but for most of her life she had wanted it contained and well behaved. Her blossoming bosom was more than enough. But for most of her life she had wanted it less.
And then one day, The truth dawned loud and proud like the roar of a lion in dead of night on a Serengeti night.
Her kind was strange. Their sound seemed peculiar. She had hidden from them and tried to hide them from the world by taking on the appearance, poise, posture, and lingo of everyone else – the ones that seemed familiar and correct. But in that strangeness, in the strangeness of the peculiar was a proud heritage. One she now yearned to pass on to her children. And so, slowly by slowly, her thinking began to change. She no longer considered them strange. She now embraced the strange in her.
Her thinking began to change and she began to dance to the beat of her own drum. You see forever and ever, she had wanted to think like other people in order to fit in. But now the butterfly was coming out of her cocoon and she wanted to question even as she walked the path of finding herself. And so she surrounded herself with other butterflies. The kind who believed she could fly. They type who helped her up when she fell. The ones who pushed her off the ledge, then jumped of and joined her as she soared.
She learned to listen to the sound of her own voice. She learned to recognize the call of the butterfly. She learned to love the flight into the unknown, and one day, suddenly, she began to sing the song of the unsung. It was only then that she looked behind and saw that there were others following her. She had been so focused on her journey, so focused on the finish line, that she had not wanted to look back lest she falter. But now, looking back in order to celebrate, all she could do was stand in awe. The wind had blown and her wings had called out to other butterflies. And slowly, but very surely, and certainly and very steadily, they were all flowing in the current of the season.
You see she never saw the beauty of the peculiar until she stopped to love the peculiar in the beauty. She was no longer a caterpillar. She was a butterfly. And she was now soaring in the season of Her Flight. She loved who she had become – but better yet, she loved who she was yet to become. The finish line never looked so good – until she saw it from the sky. And then, instead of running to it, she decided to soar beyond it.
BEAUTIFUL – EMPOWERED – VISIONARY