Once upon a time ages ago, there was a girl who lived in a lively village, a happy place filled with children’s laughter and the smell of freshly baked bread. The shiniest fruits stood in rows in the market, clean horses kicked the dirt with their hooves, satisfied with their owners’ brushing.

The girl had dutifully displayed dozens of beautiful flowers, red and white roses, irises and daisies. All sorts of delicate flowers that she grew with love and care in her garden.

Everyday, you’d see her long carefully braided hair full of petals and poppies. This girl had a bouquet for every occasion.

Velvety red roses were for love confessions, gardenias and fluffy peonies for decorating a cozy home.

Everyone in the village came to know her as the flower girl. And that’s who she’ll be for the rest of our story.

She lived alone with her mother, and anyone who looked at them wouldn’t guess they were related. Nonetheless, the relationship between mother and daughter was one of mutual respect and frequent bonding.

Our flower girl, just like a flower rooted in dark ground, often felt stuck, even if the ground provided shelter, nourishment and safety, the sun shone and the flower opened up its petals and grew.

Her mother was nice, at times overbearing, perhaps out of love than anything else, the villagers were kind, good people. Always ready to help out, most if not all of them knew her since she was a baby, and so did she. She practically grew up with all of them, the town square was her playground, the other kids her siblings, the adults her aunts and uncles.

But beyond the towering walls of the village, stood even taller trees, ones that were calm and serene in good weather, and that swayed violently during raging storms.

Our flower girl was always keen on seeing what might lay outside these walls, but every time she’d bring it up to someone, they’d either dismiss her or not care about the subject, almost as if they would forget entirely that there was something beyond in the first place.

So she would write stories, pages upon pages full of ink. She did not know many words but she used them all. Stories about what may lie beyond her small village.

And everyday when she tends to her garden, her mind would drift to those late night stories, and everyday when she displays her pretty flower arrangements, her eyes would drift to those tall dark green trees. The closer she gets to that wall, the faster her heart seems to beat. And the more time that passes, the more her heart quickens and the louder the whispers get.

In the end, our flower girl can stay in her nice village, learn to see the walls as a safety measure from the outside world and all scary things that lurk in the dark, she can grow older in a family, take care of her mother until she passes, become the grandmother that bakes cookies and tells stories. But what stories will there be to tell?

Stories from books she kept hidden? Figments of a narrow imagination? Perhaps a visitor shall arrive one day with stories to tell, will they be true or not? no one will ever know.

And sometimes this life doesn’t seem so bad to her, or so she thinks. Because her heart will exhaust all its beats in an effort to deliver a message from her soul. A soul far bigger than any village, a soul that can’t be contained within walls even as wide as the sky itself.

Her heart continues to constrict, the walls almost feel as though they are closing in on her, and even those tall trees don’t feel as imposing as she once believed. In fact, they seem strong and proud, swaying with the wind not because they’re helpless but because they choose to flow with it.

Dare To Seek More.

I myself have felt stuck for years, I also felt like I’m in a suffocating village with imposing walls, I yearned for the trees and whatever unknown lay beyond. And many will look at this village as a safe and secure haven, the people are pleasant, there’s always food on the table, why not just be grateful for what you have?

When you know you’re meant for more, when you feel it in a way that haunts you, infiltrates every thought and action, gratitude won’t put the ghosts to sleep. 

Gratitude is a wonderful thing, one of the most powerful and beautiful feelings and attitudes. 

But you’re not being ungrateful in wanting more, in seeking more.

When you don’t go for what you’re meant to, you waste powerful energy, those heart palpitations, the whispers, the sleepless nights, they stagnate because there’s no outlet. 

It’s almost like they stay stuck in a stagnant body and a closed off mind. Instead of seeing the light of day just like they’re meant to.

I’ve felt like this flower girl for a long time because of school, my environment and the people I know. But it’s only after pursuing what I love most, what I loved for a long long time but ignored, that I felt peace and fulfillment. Reading and writing are what feel authentic to me, to who I am and who the highest version of me is.

I’m so sure you know what it is for you, and it’s so hard to start sometimes, there is so much fear and mental resistance. 

But would you trade inner peace for a moment of comfort? Would you settle for a lifetime of regrets instead of a life filled with excitement and novelty? 

There will always be fear, uncertainty and failure. 

But life is a game of picking battles, life is characterized by contrast and polarity, but there’s a hack that makes things easier: reframing.

What you shine a light on is what you see, most things are not a two-dimensional square but instead a multi-dimensional cube, each facet shows you something new, if you would just move it a little.

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📝 Author’s Note

I’ve felt stuck and lost for years, because I did everything except the things I love. Life felt like mere existence because I was doing too much of what I didn’t care for but felt obligated to do.

This is your big neon sign to do more of what you love. Even incorporating a little in your daily life can have a powerful effect.

We love the things we do for a reason.

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