A while back, one of the cats ripped a hole in my down jacket. I went to seamstresses, and they all said the same thing: You can’t just sew it closed; you’ll need a patch. And for months I didn’t do anything about it, until last month when I went to the dry-cleaner down the street, asked her about patchwork, and ended up picking through her small pile of patches.
“No no, don’t choose a small one,” she said. “It will be too obvious that it’s covering a mistake. Choose a big one. Make it look like it was intentional all along, perhaps even part of the design.”
I did as she suggested, picking out a wide-winged butterfly:
As 2017 came to a close, and as I now step into 2018, I think a lot about this butterfly, not just because it’s proof that I finally fixed my jacket, but because it’s something I’ve chased after for a long time: wings. Not too long ago, I wasn’t sure where I was going (and let’s be honest, sometimes I’m still not), when I saw this crooked path, all I could think was “I want to fly,” by which I meant really move in the direction I wanted to go and reach new heights. I wasn’t sure what that even meant at the time. I imagined it being that moment in which everything came together in one glorious gesture, when someone might announce “My god, you’ve arrived.”
As it turns out, that’s not how it works. There have been random asides along the way and definitely bumps in the road. I’ve gotten good advice, I’ve gotten weird advice, but never has anyone (or really will anyone) turn to me and say “My god, you did it.” In fact, more often than not, people are eager to point out defects or compare what you’re doing to someone else who did it, or perhaps did it better.
After all this time, I can say that I have my wings. Have I arrived? My god, have I done it? I still don’t know what that means, and still lean towards “not yet, if ever.” But I have my wings, and you know what? I had to pick them out myself and I had to make them big enough to cover up rips and tears below.
I think for many people (myself included) fulfilling goals is daunting, because we want someone to show us the way. This is what I’ve wanted for a long time, for someone to sort of give me a “How To” on moving forward. In some cases, this is exactly right, and it’s time to find a mentor. But as my experiences have taught me, we often have to stitch the wings ourselves, connect them to our backs, and wait until the next gust of wind to make another glorious leap. And more often than not, they’re leaps in spite of rips and tears underneath.
2017 wasn’t a great year for many, and I can understand why, but for me it was a towering one. This was the year I got involved with the Shanghai Literary Review and learned so much about what it means to publish something I’m proud of (which I’d always thought of as a faraway goal), and the importance of putting my work out there, even if it’s hard. This was the year in which I made it to the remaining Chinese provinces, so that I can say I’ve been to them all. This was the year in which I stopped feeling awkward when I introduced myself as a writer/translator, and this was the year in which Katie and I not only made a website for our poetry group, but also published an anthology of some poems and learned how gratifying it can be for people to value something you’ve worked hard on.
All throughout 2017, I was stitching my own wings. I learned to stop waiting for someone to tell me where to find them, or how to start. I learned that sometimes it’s the power of just trying something, actually leaping, and seeing if you actually take off from the ground. And when I look ahead to 2018, I can only think of making more leaps, and hoping to catch the wind, my momentum, and follow it into the sky. Perhaps this time next year, I will be soaring, perhaps I’ll still be hovering above the ground.
To anyone reading this, I hope we all find our wings. I hope that we let ourselves take risks and make spectacular mistakes, if only because they make for the best art in the end. I hope we can feel the wind in our faces as we fly, even if only for the few moments we dared to leap. I hope that this time next year, we can all look back and see how far we’ve come, not how far we have yet to go.