Thanks for writing, Sister Morgan. I'm tired of being a goldfinch, but I'm scared to try my wings.
In Iceland when pufflings learn to fly, they jump off a high cliff. If they're lucky, they flutter into safe ocean. Too often, though, they confuse the shimmering lights of the city with the moon's reflection on the water, and they dive into a sea of hungry cats and dogs.
If I jump, where will I land? I've planned ahead for my entire life. I had my ninth birthday party planned three months before my birthday. In fifth grade I learned the magic of list-making on dry erase boards. Since then, I've planned every hour of my day and sketched out goals months in advance. I'm supposedly "commencing" the next part of my life. My parents, in-laws, and teachers act so excited about my graduation, but I just don't know what to feel excited about. Jason and I don't even have jobs, let alone professions. I'm not a mom, so I have no reason to be a homemaker. Thanks to student teaching, I feel like I've sentenced myself to the public school system. I don't know where I even want to land, and without a goal in mind, how can I jump?
Instead I am the goldfinch. I busy myself with dishes and emails, read fairytales, and avoid thinking. I search for new apartments looking for a place to belong as the new "graduated" us. I go through the motions of applying for jobs, but I might not get one. And if I do, will I sign a contract binding myself to it?
I can't name my fear. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't feel like growing up unless it's to be a mom, and that's at least 9 months away. And what can you do in 9 months anyway? You can't sign a contract.