For quite a while now, I have been terrified of birds. 

I flinch when they swoop down close to me, even when I hear their chirping close by. My reasoning for this fear is unclear to me, and that is what I am trying to uncover.

The simple answer would be their sharp talons, wings, and the threat of feces dropping onto my head. Yet, for some reason, I feel like there is more behind the motivation. 

Perhaps it is because birds don’t have limits to how far they can go. They possess the ability to travel anywhere they would like while I am here sitting on my bed, fantasizing over traveling, but I never go anywhere.

I feel like I am trapped in a snowglobe—staying within the greater Grand Rapids area. I never leave; I’m afraid that I never will. 

Perhaps I am jealous of the bird. They are continuously moving—continuously seeing new things. I want that. I like the exciting, exhilarating experience of never stopping, never resting. 

That life, that feeling of freedom, that invigorating, electrifying feeling—I want that. That is the life I want to live.

But I’m scared that in the future, I will stick with my habit of never going out of my comfort zone, never living the life that I aspire to have. 

To compare my human life to a bird’s is absurd. Or is it? 

Arctic birds fly an average of 620,000 miles in their lifespan of twenty-five years. Humans walk an average of 110,000 miles in eighty years. 

I do not wish to be a bird. My ornithophobia is far too overwhelming for that desire. I am afraid that I am never going to live the life that I want to live. I want the life where I travel to new places, the life where I meet new people, the life where I learn new things, the life where I make priceless memories.

There is no denying that I love my life as it is. Yet I feel as if I play it too safe. I chicken out of doing things that are just the slightest bit out of my comfort zone—I even get scared of sending text messages. I know I am young, and I know that I have so much of my life left to live. I hope that I find my way out of my little greater Grand Rapids snowglobe and find my way around the real world in the future.

I am still terrified of birds—I feel like I always will be. Maybe I am crazy, but maybe I’m not. The talons, wings, and threat of feces landing on my head still scares me. The jealousy of their travels still lingers.

What still is unknown to me is how my fear began and when it will go away.