Don’t burst my balloon ...
Runaway balloons are proof that you can escape the clutches of a fist that tries to keep you down. When I met one today, I cheered it on to keep flying past the sharp branches of really tall trees. I didn’t know how much longer it could stay in the sky. Because all it will do is float until it can’t anymore, though my instincts tell me it ended up in Paris to spend its final helium-filled moments on the top of the Eiffel Tower.
It is there this glittery balloon-being sighs and thinks life has been good to it. The only purpose it had was to live freely and to spread joy. When I found it, it had already served its duty at Mary and Robert’s 57th anniversary for as long as it was absolutely necessary. And when the time was right, it flung itself into the air and kept moving to keep the joy spreading. Throughout the journey, it waved to children playing in the street; it ran alongside a dog who happily tried to chase it; and it met me who finally looked up for the first time in a while.
Some people remind me of runaway helium balloons. I admire how carefree they are and how they continue to climb in any which way they choose. And no matter where they go, they manage to spread joy to those they meet. They also swerve and dip without a fear of falling. These balloon-like people don’t need the wind, but they trust it when it flings them in a new direction. And then they continue to float and float and float. And, more importantly, they let themselves dance.
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