When people speak of a person’s metamorphosis, they usually are comparing the person’s change with that of a butterfly breaking from its cocoon and flying away in a reborn body. I feel like I’m going through a metamorphosis. But I’m not a butterfly. I feel more like a newly hatched chick.
I’ve broken through the shell and am standing awkwardly on my new little legs. I’m unsure and uncertain of my surroundings. I’m that chick with the egg goo matting down her feathers.
I’m one of the last chicks in the incubator to hatch. I stayed in my shell too long. I stayed where I was warm and comfortable and felt safe. But safe, of course, I was not. Remember what happens to the eggs that don’t hatch. Their occupants die and are thrown away.
Thankfully, by some shine of the incubator light through my shell or perhaps a bit of boredom, I moved a bit and a bit more and then couldn’t get comfortable again. I finally realized I’d out grown my shell. It was time to break free.
Now, I’m not someone who closes her eyes and jumps. I’m the one who crawls up to the edge and peeks over to see the fall. I’m the one who must touch her toe in the water before going in. I’m the chick that first makes a tiny hole to peak through into the new world –- cautious, timid, worried.
But I’m also a fretter. I begin to pick at the edges of the hole -– not so much because I want to get out –- remember, I really like the safety and warmth I felt inside my shell –- but more out of boredom and worry -– the way that a child picks at a scattered scab that runs in bits along a limb. It’s just a little bit here, and, oh, that little bit there was about to come off anyway.
I’m so involved with worrying about the shell that I fail to notice my surroundings. I’ve hatched. I’ve hatched?! Oh my, I’ve hatched! Ahh, I don’t know what to do. This feels so weird.
I look around at all the other chicks. They don’t have goo matting down their feathers. They are beautiful with feathers all puffed up and sticking out in soft, yellow glory. And they’ve got this movement thing down. I’m still trying to stand. I’m not beautiful or talented like them. But a part of me knows that I can be just like them. I mean, if they can do it, I should be able to do it too.
So, I’m a chick with goo. Appealing, isn’t it? Oh, especially that bit of litter that’s stuck to my backside. I tried to roll around to remove it but only picked up more. Ah, well. At least I don't know yet that I'm going to end up as someone's dinner.
- theCallowQueen
- In the down-hill tumble of life, I'm okay with the scratches and bruises; it's the broken bones that I'm trying to avoid.
7 comments:
Yes, you're a cute little chick like the ones on the stickers you gave me. Awww!
I'm intrigued by your post because, though I've seen you going through changes lately, I'm curious in what aspect you see yourself as hatching. I have some pretty good ideas... But, then I wonder if you see me as someone who has hatched or is still hiding in my shell.
Welcome, little one!! You may find you like it better out here. The view is much improved, at least.
And, coincidentally, you are missed.
My hatching has been a slow process. It's my decision to stop hiding and to make change happen in my life. I don't see it as limited to just one aspect of my life. It's the attitude that I carry about life and my place in it.
And I can't pinpoint its beginning. That first crack in my shell probably came from the struggles I had with my old boss. She made me realize that she isn't the one who decides the level of my talents and abilities -- I am. I decided that I'm pretty freakin' talented and should find a job where I was appreciated (and paid better).
The empowering effects of this began to extend cracks along my shell like lightening. Suddenly, I had a new ability to put myself out there in situations where I would have previously shied away from for fear of failure.
So, yellowdancer, it's more than just that one aspect of my life that you suspect (not that that one isn't an important part and probably the easiest to identify by those close to me).
I find your question about your hatching interesting. This entry was basically pulled from some journal writing I did late one night. It’s my random thoughts about how I see myself written as a sort of allegory. That said, I know what you are actually asking of me, which is beyond my allegory. So, let me put it this way, my answer about you as a chick is clouded by our years of friendship and the commonality I found between us. Memories of who I was then and who you were then linger in my present perception of you. These memories have a way of masking gradual changes.
Those closest to us are sometimes the last to identify a change. An example would be some one who is slowly losing weight. Her good friend who sees her daily might have a feeling that something has changed but not pinpoint exactly what the change is. Whereas an old acquaintance she hasn’t seen in some time will notice instantly that the woman has lost a bit of weight. (I can say this one is true for me. I almost never can tell if someone close to me has had a change in weight until it is quite dramatic. And, even then, I may be a bit slow catching on.)
I think this is one of those questions that each person has to define and answer for himself or herself in the same way that I had to define and value my own talents instead of believing and trusting in someone else’s evaluation of them.
Whew, that was a long response. :) This is quite a deep conversation to have on a blog, isn't it?
I didn't exactly mean for you to analyze me. I was just curious, since you mentioned people who had already hatched whether you considered me one or not. But, I suppose it's a more complicated question than it sounds. Anyway, hope my asking it didn't cause you any stress. I was merely curious and didn't mean to be nosy. :)
As far as how I think of myself... I don't think I'm the same person I was a couple years ago at all. Not even close. I think I've changed a lot and grown a lot. I don't think I'd like me too much if I went back in time, if you know what I mean.
But as far as hatching goes, as soon as you break out of one shell, you find yourself in another bigger one. I don't think you can say, "I'm hatched. That's it. I'm done." At least not until you die (and then it's pretty hard to talk). I think life is about continuously growing into and out of shells, and hopefully they keep getting bigger and better every time.
Still, it's a nice metaphor. :)
It was a very nice blog. Thanks for sharing. Eventhough I feel fairly close to you, I can tell that you've changed. Even the way you look has changed. For example on New Year's you were all glow-y:)
So do you feel that hatching is one definative point? I would say that for myself, it is not. I can feel that there are many ways I have broken free, but many other in which I am still bound. I'm pretty sure I'll go through my life growing slowly until I have a brilliant epiphany as to the meaning of life at age 90 and then die 20 minutes later.--at
Yellowdancer and I talked about this a little more last night. I really liked her addition of there always being another shell to break through.
When you've finally broken through a shell, you see yourself and the world in a new light. At the same time, I don't think you can yet see that you're still in a shell. What that shell is hasn't been defined yet; you haven't grown big enough/matured enough yet to even know of its existence.
For some reason, AT, your comment about dying just after you learned the meaning of life reminded me of a commercial. An Italian family is gathered around the bed of a dying old woman. She tells them that she’s lived a long a full life and has seen and done everything she ever wanted. She’s experienced everything. Then she turns her head and looks out the window. Across the way, she sees a robed woman sitting at the edge of a Kohler bathtub. The old woman dies, wanting one last experience.
So, what does this commercial teach us? Well, besides buying a Kohler bathtub before we die, this commercial shows that perhaps we are the builders of the shells, which we must later break through.
I just saw that commercial this morning for the first time. Weird. And I watched it on mute (luckily it's subtitled I think). Interesting point though
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