Imagine Yourself a Pilot
An extended metaphor on the storms that arrive mid-flight — and the only direction available.
A long one. Sometimes the best way to talk about a thing is to talk about something else that has the same shape.
Imagine yourself a pilot
Flying through the sky
It’s only you up there
The path’s for you to decide
You see clear blue skies
Sunshine beaming through
You can’t imagine a more perfect day
It doesn’t matter where you’re headed to
But eventually, there’s a flurry of dark clouds
A storm is approaching, onward
You can’t stop, you can’t turn around
You can only move forward
You panic, your heart races faster than ever before
Truly frightened, because this could be it
But you keep going — because you don’t have a choice
Suddenly, the clouds disperse, and you’re back in paradise
You can’t stop the storms. You can’t outrun them either. The only direction available is through. And the strange grace of the metaphor is that the storms always end — eventually, the clouds disperse, and the sky is back.
Keep flying.
— JTC