Some of us are Looking at the Stars

Where do we land when we fall?
Good question, right?

So, once more, this isn’t poetry. It isn’t creative writing. It isn’t about music. It isn’t even really about me. What is it about? I’m not entirely sure. Let’s make it up as we go.

The first line came to me this morning. Where do we land when we fall? Are we caught by the people we hope will catch us? Most often, no. And yet, we keep reaching for them, hands outstretched, even when we know they won’t be there. Maybe that’s part of our nature: to long for the ones we want, even if we end up cradled by the ones we need.

It invites another thought: the people in our lives aren’t always our chosen ones. They’re the ones life chose for us. Each person brings a lesson or a shift in course, whether we recognise it or not. Some arrive as storms, some as shelter, and some, perhaps most, will never know which they were.

As for me, I don’t fall easily. And when I do, I rarely fall where others can see me. I’m careful with my cracks. I carry myself with restraint. At least most of the time. And I suppose I’m not easy to catch. I’m too much in every sense of the word. Too much weight, too much presence, too much woman. Add a touch of humour here, because why not? It helps soften the truth.

Also, I don’t have many people to land with. That part, I admit, is mostly by choice. Being self-sufficient is a quiet kind of pride and a subtle kind of loneliness.

Why is it so hard for some of us to ask for more? Why is it so difficult to say, “Listen, I need someone to lean on right now”? Maybe we don’t want to need anyone. Maybe we fear the answer. Or maybe we’ve been made to believe that needing is weakness, and silence is strength.

I don’t do it easily. I don’t say, “I’m tired” or “I’m hurting” without dressing it up in metaphors. I try to stay in control. I used to be louder, more dramatic. These days, I’m quieter. Softer, maybe. Maybe that’s what age does. It dulls the sharp edges. I no longer have the energy for chasing what runs from me or proving myself to those who never asked.

Not everything is meant to stay. And not everything that stays is meant to grow. Some things don’t happen, and that’s a gift too. We don’t always notice the bullets we dodged until we look back and realise we’re still standing.

And here I am, once again having lost the red thread. I began this with a thought, and now it’s drifted into something else entirely. But maybe that’s the whole point. Life rarely stays within the lines we draw for it. And colouring inside the lines is nice for a while, but quickly gets boring anyway. Perfection is nice on the outside, but dull on the inside. It’s not something I strive to achieve. And maybe by saying that, I revealed a bit too much about myself again.

It’s Wednesday. The first half of the week is done. Thank the stars for that. It’s been anything but gentle.

But they say the only way is up. And maybe, just maybe, that means we don’t need to worry where we’ll land when we fall.

Because sometimes, falling is flight.
Sometimes, we rise differently than we expected.
And if we’re lucky, we don’t land. We transform.

To borrow from Oscar Wilde:
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.
And if not? At least you’ll have looked up.