The Flight of Daedalus.

I was supposed to move to New York last fall. I've wanted to live there since I was sixteen. I remember specifically the first time I set foot in Times Square. I was home. I knew that no matter where my life took me, part of my consciousness would always oriented to that place - like a sunflower to the sun. There's an energy there that vibrates at a certain frequency. My frequency. One of the most significant events of my life happened in front of the statue of George M. Cohan that stands in Duffy Square, at the north end of Times Square. It was a major crossroads for me, and I couldn't think of a more appropriate place to mark it than the"Crossroads of the World". Maybe someday, I'll write about that event. For now, however, suffice it to say that New York is home to me in a way that many of the places I've actually lived can never be.

As I said, I was supposed to move. That was Plan A. As I am writing from Philadelphia, things obviously didn't go as planned. For starters, I left my job at the end of August so I could devote as much time as necessary to the job hunt in New York. I had money in the bank. I was covered. Shortly thereafter, I had a front row seat for the Great Economic Crash and Burn of 2008. You might have heard about it. It was on ALL of the news channels. Riveting. It occurred to me that relocating anywhere was probably not the best idea. Furthermore, relocating to New York fell into the category of - ooh, what's the word I'm looking for?...Oh, yeah, insane. Also, as much as I hated to admit it, I still have certain other issues to resolve in my personal life. It took some adjustment, but I took a deep breath, and pondered the question: What do you do when Plan B kicks Plan A's butt. Answer: Suck it up and go with Plan B. Sigh.

Plan B was to stay put, go back to work, keep my head down, and plow through the rest of the path in front of me. That's what I do. When you spend a lifetime in an observatory capacity, you learn to analyse things differently. I have the hard won ability to divorce my objectives from any emotional expectations. I tend to celebrate things long after they are faits accomplis. It makes for much less disappointment in my life. Additionally, the few disappointments I do feel are less keen. They don't have enough emotional momentum to throw me off course. Steady as she goes.

The dilemma brought to mind the legend of Daedalus and Icarus. It's a cautionary tale from Greek Mythology that struck a chord with me as a child. Daedalus was an Athenian architect and sculptor. His works were known far and wide, and he is largely credited with ushering in the modern age of sculpture. He took his young nephew Talus as an apprentice. When it became obvious that he was much more talented and clever than his celebrated uncle, Daedalus threw the boy from atop the Acropolis, killing him. He fled Athens to avoid persecution and death, and was granted asylum on the island of Crete. He served its king, Minos, as his artist and architect. Minos commissioned Daedalus to build the Labyrinth to house the Minotaur, a dreaded beast with the head and shoulders of a bull atop the body of a man. There are many versions of the legend, each giving a different reason for Daedalus' eventual imprisonment in the Labyrinth. The most well-known is a tale of betrayal, stating that the hero Theseus came to Crete to battle the Minotaur. King Minos had demanded tributes be paid from neighbouring kingdoms in the form of young boys and girls, who were sacrificed to the beast by being led into the Labyrinth where they were then captured and eaten. Daedalus had made the structure so serpentine and illusory that no one ever escaped, including the Minotaur. When Theseus came to challenge the beast, hoping to kill it and put an end to the barbaric tributes, Minos' daughter Ariadne fell in love with the brave hero. Not wanting him to perish, she went to Daedalus and begged him for the secret of the Labyrinth. He told her that if Theseus trailed a piece of twine behind him, once he reached the center of the Labyrinth, if he defeated the crazed Minotaur, he could follow the twine out. Theseus followed this instruction, defeated the beast, made his way out and eventually escaped with Ariadne. King Minos learned of Daedalus' betrayal and sealed him inside the Labyrinth, along with his young son Icarus. Not one to be outsmarted, Daedalus gathered sticks and bones, as well as feathers, candle stubs, and Theseus' twine from throughout the maze. Being a talented sculptor, he fashioned two sets of great wings from the materials. He fastened one set to his own back, and the other to his son's, warning Icarus all the while, "Always fly the middle course, my son. If you fly too close to the sea, your feathers will grow heavy with water and drag you into the waves. Nor should you rise too high, for the nearness of the great sun shall burn away your feathers and you will fall from the sky like a stone. Fly between the two, and stay close to me." Icarus nodded, understanding his father's concern. Wings secured and warnings given, the two took to the air, flying up and out of their prison, away from Crete and on toward freedom.

Their flight was well and good up to a point. Icarus, being young and headstrong, was so taken with the ease of flying that he began dipping down just out of reach of the hungry Mediterranean, then rising high above his pleading father. Daedalus begged Icarus to be calm and fly behind him, but the boy was so overcome with joyous freedom, he flew higher and higher. While he didn't fly high enough for his feathers to burn, he had forgotten that they were anchored with wax, and as he rose through the clouds, the wax melted away and Icarus' wings came undone. Daedalus watched in agony as his only son plunged to his death, done in by his own youthful folly. Daedalus, though overwhelmed with grief, made his way to Sicily, where he made a new life for himself. He contributed many great things to his new home and culture, but in the end, he died heartbroken and alone.

This tale always held many lessons for me. Sometimes the "prisons" in our lives are of our own making, like Daedalus and his Labyrinth. Very often, the tools we need to escape those prisons are already within our reach. All we have to do is look around. Unfortunately, the ingenuity we have to save ourselves isn't always going to save the people and things we love. Maybe it's not supposed to. Also, Karma's a bitch.

I have many dreams in my life. A good number of them have made their way to fruition. Some still hang in the ether. My job, as the custodian of those dreams and the abilities I have been granted to fulfill them, is to fly a strong and steady course, not too close to the sun or the sea. I made peace long ago with the possibility--actually, the probability--of having to finish that flight alone. I haven't reached my destination yet, but I will. Once my feet find their purchase on solid ground, I'm sure I will have losses to mourn. I will also have a life to build, being ever mindful of the wholeness of my heart and the tenuous nature of my solitude. Manhattan is the island I'm flying toward. It's full of people from all walks of life and every corner of the globe, come to live new lives and build new dreams, free of the twisted mazes and monsters of their pasts. I think I'll fit right in. I won't even mind the longer flight to get there.