Motivational Story: The Dat Freedo Learned to Fly
It was a warm spring morning when a little Monarch butterfly named Freedom emerged from her cocoon.
For fifteen days, she had rested within its narrow walls.
For fifteen days, she had little room to move, little room to stretch, and only the faintest rays of light filtered through its delicate silk casing.
For fifteen days, the little butterfly wondered patiently what lay beyond and what it might feel like to fly.
And now, at last, after the slightest of struggles, she had gathered the strength to push the cocoon open.
She was free to fly.
She was free to see the world beyond.
The light shone brightly into her eyes as she waited for them to adjust. And as they did, she gazed in awe at the colors and what appeared to be endless meadows.
She saw fragrant flowers dancing in the breeze.
The tall grass swayed like gentle waves upon a sea of green.
Beyond the meadow stood distant hills she had never seen, and beyond those hills, she imagined, were wonders yet unknown.
It was all new, all exciting.
Nervously flapping her wings as fast as she could, she began to fly. As she got the hang of it, she looked back at her cocoon and began to wonder:
“What is freedom?”
She had spent fifteen days waiting for it, and now that she was finally free, what did it mean? What would she do? Where would she go?
Now, to you, fifteen days may seem like nothing. But to a small butterfly, it is the equivalent of thirty years.
Curious to know the answer, she began to ask.
She flew for a while and soon landed upon an old oak tree named Ben.
Ben was more than one hundred years old. Strong, towering, and wise, he had seen so much of life that surely he must know the answer.
“Mr. Oak Tree, what is freedom?” she asked.
Ben, the old oak tree, chuckled softly.
“Why, little one,” said the tree, “freedom is having strong roots and a place to belong.”
The butterfly looked down at her tiny feet. She had no roots.
She spent some time with Ben, talking and chatting about many things. Then she thanked the old oak tree and fluttered away.
Soon she met a small creek named Pebble, its water fresh and cool, flowing gently and happily over smooth stones.
She landed upon a stone and took a careful sip, making sure not to fall in.
It was refreshing.
The creek seemed so calm and so gentle, yet somehow unstoppable. Surely, thought the butterfly, the creek must know the answer.
“Mr. Creek, what is freedom?” she asked.
Pebble the creek laughed as its water danced past.
“Freedom is movement. Freedom is never standing still. Freedom is following your own course wherever it may lead.”
The butterfly looked at her wings and smiled.
Indeed, when she moved her wings, she could fly. This made sense. But there were also times when she would need to rest and sleep.
She spent a bit of time enjoying the passing water and chatting with the creek. Then she thanked the creek and continued on.
As the day unfolded, she asked every creature she met.
Charlie the songbird said freedom was the open sky and the ability to sing any tune.
Jack the rabbit said freedom was a safe burrow and a peaceful home.
Nancy the bee said freedom was meaningful work and honey as a reward.
Poppy the wildflower said freedom was simply growing where one was planted and reaching toward the sun.
Each answer seemed true, yet each answer was different.
The butterfly continued her journey, enjoying her first day in the world as she wondered about freedom.
As evening approached, she found herself upon a hill overlooking the meadow she had crossed that day.
The sun was just setting, and the sky glowed with shades of gold, orange, and crimson.
From that hill, she could see the old oak tree.
The creek.
The songbird.
The rabbit.
The bees.
And the wildflowers.
She could see them all, living freely in their own understanding of freedom.
For a moment, she sat quietly, talking it all in, thinking about what freedom meant to her, as a Monarch butterfly.
She smiled, reflecting on all the answers she had been given, when suddenly she understood it!
It was as if the answer had been quietly waiting within her all along, patiently waiting to be discovered.
Ben, the oak tree, rooted himself as he grew strong.
Pebble, the creek, followed its course.
Charlie the songbird rode the wind.
Jack the rabbit built his home.
Nancy the bee gathered her nectar.
Poppy the wildflower grew and turned toward the sun.
And in doing so, each was free in its own way.
She gazed at her wings, bright orange and black, glowing softly as they reflected the colors of the setting sun.
That morning, she had looked back upon the cocoon she had left behind and thought that freedom meant escaping it.
But now she understood.
Freedom was far more than that.
She had been given the sky to explore, the meadow to wander, and a world filled with wonder.
She had been given Ben the oak tree, Pebble the creek, Charlie the songbird, Jack the rabbit, Nancy the bee, and Poppy the wildflower as friends, and countless others she had yet to meet.
She was free to drift upon the breeze and dance among the clouds.
Free to rest upon the branches of old oak trees and beside cool, flowing creeks.
Free to taste the sweet nectar of colorful wildflowers.
Free to learn from her friends and to make new ones.
Free to bask in the warmth of the sun and watch the glory of a sunset from a hilltop.
Free to bring beauty and joy to the world in her own delicate way.
Finally understanding, the little Monarch butterfly spread her wings and rose into the evening air.
Higher and higher she flew, dancing upon the breeze as the meadow and the hills grew smaller below.
And as the last golden rays of sunlight slipped beyond the horizon, giving way to a sky adorned with thousands of shining stars, she laughed.
For she was no longer searching for freedom.
She simply was… free.
Love,
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