The Plane That Couldn’t Hold Me

Metaphorical Narrative

You take the sharp turn mid-flight.
The wings tilt, the engine roars, and for a moment it feels like pure power — self-belief in motion. But then you smell it: fumes. The machine coughs, rattles, and can’t keep pace with your command.

Maybe it was never built for you.
Maybe this frame, this vessel, this story wasn’t ready for the scale of your movement. And when the smoke thickens and gravity takes you down, it feels like failure.

But here’s the truth: crashing down is not the end. It’s the unveiling. The plane falls apart — but you don’t.

Core Insight

You are not the machine.
You are not the fumes.
You are not the wreckage.

Crashing strips away the illusion that strength comes from perfect flight. Real strength is revealed in the walk you take after impact. Some lessons can only be learned when you leave what could not hold you.

The crash shows you what survives inside you — and it’s not the steel, not the cockpit, not the performance. It’s the pilot. Always the pilot.

Saturday Experiment

Today, test the weight of leaving.

1. Find one “machine” in your life that rattles when you move with full strength — maybe a role, a habit, or an expectation.
2. Ask: is this vessel built for me, or am I shrinking to fit it?
3. Practice the crash — picture it failing, picture yourself stepping out of the wreckage alive, lighter, free.

Sunday Reflection

• What part of me still believes I am the machine?
• What strength do I only discover when I imagine leaving?
• If I walked away from the wreckage today, what identity would remain standing?