I feel like I'm reaching out into the void. Grasping at the wind. Imagine if you didn't know what the wind was and with your eyes closed, you felt it in between your fingers. Felt the coolness of it on your face. Grace and charm, I feel it moving around me. It's like that. It's there. I know it's real.
When I open my eyes, you can't see the wind of course. But I want it to carry me.
But I am not the wind. If I were, I wouldn't be a tornado or hurricane by any stretch, nor do I aspire to be. I'm not the sweet-smelling breeze blowing over the ocean. I'm the occasional strong gust, knocking over a power line. When you open your umbrella and the wind catches it and knocks it inside out. I'm like that. I'm a clumsy nuisance.
Remember that line from Forrest Gump? Jenny says, "Dear God, make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far, far away from here."
Jenny's motivation for saying that line is nothing like how I feel. But it's how I feel. To be carried away somewhere else by the wind. The graceful wind. The charming wind. The wind that gently carries a young boy's kite on an autumn afternoon.
To be carried anywhere else by the wind. Alas, here I am. Here with myself.
And like the wind, I seek elsewhere.