This is not about the "old" movie of the same caged bird title. I'm sure I saw it in a theater back in the day (when popcorn cost a quarter), but to be honest I couldn't begin to tell you what the film was about, or even whether or not I enjoyed it. I find the words a catchy phrase though, which has been tippy-toeing across my consciousness for a few weeks now.
As a psychologist I've studied dream analysis and am not a proponent of Freud's outdated theory that the meaning of symbols is universal. Rather, a tree may mean one thing to one person, and something entirely different to another. So if you were to have recurring dreams around the symbol of a tree or trees, in order to understand the underpinnings of your dream the question becomes why? Why trees? What do trees mean to you?
My question is also why? Of all the words in all the dictionaries (to play on another phrase from another old movie) why have these words recently invaded the privacy of my mental processing? What do they mean to me?
Cage brings zoos to mind, and zoos used to depress me. Poor animals, I thought in the light of youthful idealism, denied their freedom, robbed of their right to live a natural life. When genius-type Marilyn Vos Savant commented on this subject, however, she made the point that animals in the wild live short, often stressful lives, and typically die painful if not violent deaths. "When cared for by humans they are protected, fed, bathed, medicated when necessary, and even provided mates. Which life would you prefer?"
Seven years ago I retired from clinical practice and revelled in the privacy of my comfortable home, where my office was mine alone and I had the luxury of working near a window with a naturalistic view complete with greenery, flowers, a pool, waterfall, squirrels on the ground and a zillion birds in the trees. They were free and I was the one caged. But by choice. And I believe that in my heart I outsang them!
The door of my cage was always open, and not long ago I ventured out, came out of retirement, and found that the bigger, wider world holds some allure of its own. I'm reconnecting with friends, reaching out more as a volunteer in the community, and of course seeing clients once again. It means more mix-n-match instead of Levi's, stylish shoes more than bare feet or dusty cowboy boots, make up on my face like it or not, and... meetings...
Meetings are not my favorite thing. Agendas, protocol, smiling, nodding, asking, answering, agreeing, disagreeing, explaining, pretending, being honest, speaking out, shutting up, and never, ever... yawning. I am not a natural up-and-on person, but I can fake it when I have to, and I do, understanding the necessity of social graces. The lines, however, become blurred. I've left my beloved cage but is this living free? No, it's living civilized. I can do it. I can. I can.
Why? What makes me so sure I can navigate this world that is in such sharp contrast to the sanctuary I call home? Again the therapeutic question why and the answer is: because the door to my cage is always open, and I can fly back in as easily as I fly out, whenever I so choose. My freedom rests in the realization that the privacy of my office always awaits me, window and all, the squirrels and twittering birds ever abound, and I can -- at any time of night or day --step back in, kick off my shoes, scrub my face, slip into my jeans, settle into my soft swivel chair, open the window, take a deep breath and... sing... sing... sing!
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