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The Skyward Shift: Learning to Lift My Head and Embrace the World

Writer's picture: Colton WrightColton Wright

For the longest time, my world was one of shadows and silhouettes, a landscape painted on the concrete beneath my feet. It was a safe place, this ground-focused view, where the risk of eye contact was as distant as the stars overhead. Half my life passed in this manner, gravity pulled on my eyes with the same force it did my body. This was more than a habit; it was a safety net, woven from threads of insecurity and self-doubt, sheltering me from the vulnerability of being seen.


Navigating life with my head down became second nature, a defense mechanism against the hate I was convinced awaited me at every turn. In this downward view, people became passing shoes and fleeting shadows—characters in a story where I was both the narrator and the captive audience. The world I inhabited was one I created, a realm rich in detail but empty of connection, where I was both architect and prisoner of my internal dialogues and imagined scenarios.


The irony of this existence was not lost on me: in my effort to remain unnoticed, to avoid the discomfort of confrontation with reality, I unwittingly trapped myself in a world far more daunting. I was on autopilot, moving through life without truly living it, my internal monologue a constant buzz that drowned out the beauty of spontaneous human interaction and the serendipity of life's unpredictable moments.


But there comes a time when the comfort of the shadows loses its allure, when the ground beneath your feet, once a canvas of safety, becomes a reminder of all that you're missing above. It was in one such moment of quiet introspection that I realized the power of looking up, of lifting my head and daring to meet the world eye-to-eye.


This didn't happen overnight for me. It was a gradual process, a series of small victories and inevitable setbacks. Each time I lifted my gaze, I felt as though I was peeling back a layer of the world I had been too afraid to engage with. The faces that once seemed imposing now bore expressions of kindness, curiosity, and shared humanity. The sky, a vast expanse of possibility, became a sea for my dreams, no longer just a void to my fears.


Looking up became my silent rebellion against the confines of my mind, an act of defiance against the voice that told me I wasn't enough. With every upward glance, I found strength not in the absence of fear, but in the courage to face it. I discovered beauty in the mundane, stories waiting to be read in the faces of strangers, and an inner resilience I had long underestimated.


The journey from the ground to the sky is one I am still navigating. There are days when my confidence falters, when the familiar pull of the pavement beckons with the promise of obscurity. But I've learned that life's richness doesn't lie in the shadows but in the light of the open world. It's in the shared glances, the unexpected smiles, and the realization that we're all navigating this human experience together, each of us with our own insecurities and hopes.


Looking up is more than a physical act; it's a metaphor for the way I choose to live my life now—open, curious, and engaged with the world around me. It's a reminder that while the ground may offer a path, the sky offers endless possibilities. So, to anyone who finds themselves walking through life with their gaze downward, know that the sky is waiting for you, too. All it takes is the courage to lift your head and let the world in.

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