I didn’t walk into nearby cages. I went far away to find them. The Northeast. The Pacific Northwest. Europe. Southern California. I had ambitions. I would solve those needs. Only, the reward wasn’t there. The cage bars were.
At some point, we get stuck. We try to make peace with standing still. Who doesn’t like a good routine anyway? It makes the days pass. By accepting the cage, getting comfortable in it, there are advantages. It funds a nice life and can ferry you to a restful grave. Many accept this fate. It may be the wisest thing to do.
Only, compromise is not for everyone. There are those of us who bang at the cell door. Some won’t sit quietly. They can’t escape the cell, they don’t know the way. So, they rebel. Live a life of extremes, of highs and lows. They run and hit the cell wall, then get up and run for another.
I found myself in a cell, like everyone else. I saw just one option. To step back from the bars and observe. I would study them, and study myself. Assess the situation. Keep alive the thought of getting out, but wait to see how. I’d learn what could be learned. Hope for inspiration.
And write. Readers open the pages of books to find answers to their cells. Writers write to figure out their own.