Fly little bird, fly.

This is my first blog post all on my own.

I’m like a baby bird and a mama bird all at the same time. Like mama bird I have to give myself a punt, and then lovingly look over the edge of the nest to see my baby not hitting the ground in a nasty splat.

And, like baby bird I’m going to freak out and panic all the while flapping my wings and then get super excited when I don’t hit the earth in a nasty splat and float gently on.

I am bravely putting myself out there all—on—my—own. David Gane is my writing partner. I have written with him for several years and we are international award winners which is super cool. But—he is not here to tell me if I’m repeating myself or have spelling mistakes, awkward sentence, taking too long to get to the point, grammar issues and other helpful advice and edits—I’m smiling here. (There will be a subsequent post about doing this without Dave.)

I know I need to give myself a punt. And I also know I need to flap the crap out of my wings.

Nervous. Loving. Scared. Excited. Safe.

And no big messy splat.

3 thoughts on “Fly little bird, fly.

Add yours

  1. I’m teaching my first yoga lesson tomorrow. I so much feel like the baby eagle, although for many years I’ve been the mother eagle in the sense that I’m a teacher at a different field. So all of us assume both roles in our life, especially those of us who keep in touch with the playful child inside. So, go for it, little bird. Time to get out of the comfort of the nest. That’s the way we are meant to go

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