An Open Letter

I was talking with E in a call, and it is getting late, but I wanted to hear more about her sharing her childhood. I made a joke, and she said something along the lines of “keep in mind we were in middle school,” and I wanted to share the sentiment of how limiting your belief in yourself comes true. I thought of the post along the lines of imagine if Icarus had died to the ocean spray instead. I tried to talk about it excitedly, but she didn’t hear me and kept talking. I immediately hit the wall, hard. I think it was because I tried to speak, and I was excited to share, and it felt like I got immediately shut down (which didn’t happen).

I like the full story of the myth of Icarus, where he couldn’t fly too high for fear of the wax melting, or fly too low for the ocean spray to make the wings too heavy to flap. Flying too close to the sun is one way to go, but so is not even trying to fly close to it. I have realized time and time again that when I set my goals and give my word to myself to do something unreasonable, I’ve found a way. What kind of life would it be if I stayed near the ocean?