More Than An Insta Moment

Knock, knock, somebody is knocking at my bedroom door at my parents’ place. I am such a loser.

It’s probably my mom.

She can read me like an open book.

“Leave me alone.”

I know she is not taking no as an answer.

My mom has a problem with respecting my privacy.

She is now standing on my bedroom floor.

“Julie, sweetie, what’s worrying you?” she asks.

“NOTHING!”

How could my mum ever understand? She is living her suburban life and is happy in jeans and her favorite worn-out T-shirt. She never workout, but loves hiking in the woods. Somehow, she is very fit for someone her age.

My mom can be pretty when she wants to. Like Jack’s new girlfriend, Ellie.

I’m lying on my bed scrolling on my phone.

“You know, you can talk to me, right?”

I burst into tears when my mom is getting closer.

“Why didn’t Jack ask me to marry him?”

“What do you mean?” mom is hugging me.

“I thought he loved me, but apparently not. He left me for beautiful, charming, funny, and successful Ellie?”

“Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry.”

“You can come in now,” she shouts.

Suddenly my granddad is standing at the door.

“Please tell Julie the story you used to tell me.”

My grandad is as big as a bear and used to be a philosophy professor at the local college.

My grandad is handing me a hot cup of cocoa.

“Hi, pumpkin.”

He still calls me his pumpkin, even though I’m 32 years old.

“Let me tell you a story by the great existentialist Kierkegaard. It’s about the wood pigeon.”

I sigh, already bored.

My grandpa is not giving up on me.

“There was once a wood pigeon. It had its nest among the high trees, in the woods where joy and mystery unite. Not far away on a farm lived some of its relatives. Some tame doves.”

“I’m not in the mood to hear about a wood pigeon, grandpa.”

“Julie, sweetheart, you can learn an important lesson from the wood pigeon.”

Grandpa is smiling at me, but I have nothing to smile about.

“The wood pigeon had a chat with the tame doves.”

I still do not understand what he is talking about. I’m taking a sip of my cocoa with marshmallows while my grandpa continues telling me about the pigeon.

“The pigeon told itself that every day has its struggle. This life philosophy helped it through life. The tame dove said: We don’t have to worry about the future. When it’s time to harvest, my mate and I sit on the roof, watching the farmer bringing in the grain. The tame doves didn’t have to worry about getting food.”

I know my grandpa has a point. I’m trying to be patient and take a cookie.

“What can a story from 1849 teach me in 2020?” I ask.

“Listen carefully. The wood pigeon got something to think about. It collected more supplies.”

“I still don’t get your point.”

“Be patient, Julie. Everything can’t always be said in an Instagram post. Let’s get out of here and take a walk in the park,” Grandpa is getting up from the chair.

“Why?”

“Just grab your coat.”

I need some fresh air and do as he says.

As we walk down to the park, Grandpa continues.

“The forest pigeon woke up earlier than usual. It was busy collecting supplies together. It hardly had time to eat. The wood pigeon found its food every day. Just like before, and it had plenty. The pigeon ate a little less than usual. It didn’t have time to eat or to enjoy the beauty of life — the pigeon worries about how it could provide what it needed. The pigeon’s feathers lost their colors. Why do you think the pigeon lost its colors?”

“The pigeon envied the tame and rich doves. I don’t understand why. The pigeon had freedom and food every day, and yet it’s as if the pigeon wasn’t happy,” I say while the sunbeams are kissing my face.

I love being in the park, the smell of the grass.

The red and yellow colors of the flowers

The silence!

The incredible scenery of birds flying and playing.

The beauty of life.

Do you see what I mean? The pigeon had caught itself in a trap of worries. Like you, Julie. You can’t stop thinking about why Jack left you for Ellie. The pigeon was also unhappy.

“Why did it become a poor wood pigeon?”

“Why didn’t it become one of the rich doves?”

“The wood pigeon felt sorrow and grief, and eventually it came up with a plan. One day, the pigeon flew back to the tame doves and noticed that the doves flew into a barn. The wood pigeon followed its relatives. When the farmer came at night, he immediately discovered the stranger, he took the wood pigeon into a small cage. The next day, he killed the wood pigeon. The farmer relieved the pigeon for its worries. The pigeon died because it wanted to be something it wasn’t.”

“The pigeon would have been happy in the woods. The pigeon’s fear of starvation destroyed its life, and it died.”

“You are right, Julie, the pigeon compared itself to the rich doves and forgot to appreciate its freedom.”

“And the beauty in its life,” I say.

“Do you get it, Julie?” asks my grandpa, “you get worried because you compare yourself to others. You don’t appreciate being the person you are.”

“I get it, Grandpa.”

I like my walks with my grandpa, and now I understand my mom’s love for hiking. Hiking reminds her of grandpa’s story.

“You can’t control everything and everyone, Julie. You don’t have to control everything. You just have to be a human being.”

“And don’t compare my life to others,” I say and feel much better as I put my arm into my grandpa’s.

“Go with the flow of joy in being who you are.”

“Jack isn’t responsible for my happiness. I’m more than a romantic picture with my boyfriend on Instagram.”

“You’re a superstar in your own life, Julie. Promise me you always will remember that.”

This story was originally published on Medium