Last month, when I visited a pet shop, I met my fifth-grade friend.
He was surprised to know that I gave up on writing. “You were working on a novel, right? Why the hell did you stop it?”
“You know,” I said, “It’s bigger than we can perceive, the world of publishers, readers. And I feel like a sand grain.”
It’s not really easy. Especially to chase your dreams.
The worst thing about Dreaming Big is that they make us feel so small.
But my friend denied, “Bro, you shouldn’t give up.”
“Why don’t you write a book and prove me wrong,” I said.
He didn’t answer. Maybe because I had a point. Or maybe because he felt that I’m out of ‘convincing-band’. “So, what are you up to? I mean in the pet shop.” He asked. The disappointment on his face was clear.
“I’m buying a pet bird.”
“That black one. It looks cute.”
I always have an affinity for tiny birds for their overloaded cuteness and the sounds they make every morning. I was lately depressed with my writing-renunciation and needed something to cheer me up. Google suggested me to have a pet. Just to make me feel better.
The bird which I bought was the size of my fist. Its feathers are fragile, beak soft and body hollow. I grabbed it in my palms and fed the pet-stuff.
Stepping out of the pet-shop, “The bird looks weak,” I said my friend, caressing on its head.
“But, I never thought you’d give up on writing,” he said—back to the same topic.
I understand it’s difficult to convince someone to believe in what you believe is right. Because they aren’t walking your way.
“I know, giving up hurts. But you need to get this point. Dreams are like clouds hanging up in the sky, they look tiny when we look up. But when we plunge to take a flight, only then, we realize how big they are and how small we are.”
He was about to reply when the bird in my hands slipped.
Before we realized, the tiny pet bird flew away. We raised our heads helplessly staring at the bird flapping wings against the clouds. It looked weak, feathers fragile, beak soft and body hollow. That moment, looking up at the bird, I looked down to myself.
The bird was small, but it didn’t accept its smallness. That’s what it taught me, slapping with its wings. Birds know how big the clouds are but they don’t know how small they are. And even when they know how small they are, they don’t believe in it. True size of someone is the size they think they are.
I’m small, not because I’m small, but because I think I’m small. And when I do think, my big dreams scare me. Everyone has a dream, but how many of them really end up living the life of their dreams? The reason is that we doubt. We doubt What we can do.
I always considered the sand grains on the shore as weakness. But they have survived a million tides of the infinite ocean. Yet, they stick to the ground. What kind of strength does a sand grain have to face the ocean? What kind of strength does a bird have to face the clouds? Their strength isn’t in their bodies. It is in their hearts.
True incapability of a man is that he fails to believe that he’s capable. That’s what makes all the difference.
The world might be big. The dreams might be big. But so should be our belief in ourselves.
“Damn, that escaped,” my friend shouted, “shall we complain about it in the pet shop?”
“Let it fly,” I said.
“But you wanted a pet, to drive your depression. Isn’t it?”
I said, “I can’t explain. I’ve to go home. I left my novel incomplete.”
From Author’s Desk:
How often do we notice the little creatures around us doing things which are unimaginably big for them? What we can do is independent of our size, our muscles, our past, our problems and our every-damn-excuse. It only depends on one thing: The belief that we have in ourselves.
If you think you can do it. You can do it!
Next time when you are giving reasons for chasing your big dreams, look at a flying bird.
Think about it
Share it with those who doubt their potential and needs motivation. Help your self. Help others.