Saturday, 27 November 2010


It’s not glass ceilings that bother me
It’s glass walls that infuriate
Glass walled meeting rooms
Glass walls dividing departments
Glass walls keeping me from the world outside.

It’s there, I can see it, but it’s just out of reach. I imagine the sun on my neck and the wind in my hair, the feel of the ground under my feet and dirt under my nails.
I dream of running as far and as fast as I can until my lungs feel like they’re going to burst, moving with abandon the way I did when I was a child and didn’t care about cuts and bruises.
I have a desire to be mountain biking through forests, making new bruises and aching muscles under dappled sunlight.
I think of being on the beach, sea salt coating my skin, wrapped in sweaters but barefoot, shoes neglected in the dunes, watching the waves and the sunset with chips and a bottle of beer, after a day of playing in the surf. In my imagination I’m surrounded by friends. We dance on the sands and collapse into each others arms giggling.
We have pitched tents but have no intentions of sleeping. As we lie in the entrances to our tents, our playful murmuring is the only sound for miles under the stars until the sun starts to rise.

I can feel my soul swelling with wellbeing and contentedness. It’s a blissful feeling.

Give me land, lots of land, under starry skies above. Don’t fence me in.
Give me a mountain and I’ll climb it.
Give me a road and I’ll walk it.
Give me a field and I’ll be happy.
Give me the sea and I’ll be lost forever.

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