On my last morning in Sardinia, my lovely waitress Alicé told me of a Sardinian park, home to thousands of flamingos. Like a poodle, my ears perked up! I taxied to the park’s information center, braving the heat (in sequin pants) and armed with Italian directions, set out to discover the family of some 15,000 flamingos, in all of their black, pink, and white splendor.
I trekked for three and half miles, coming to what was a literal crossroads. The sun was setting, I was sweating and could barely decipher a word of the directions I was given. Like a scene from a movie, I looked left, then right, standing confused on which way to proceed. My fear of being too lost to find my way back, or worse, stranded without an ability to effectively communicate, I turned, and walked the path I knew. After seven miles of searching, I ended up back at the information center. The attendant, surprised to see me, inquired about my mishap. Standing together, I retraced my steps, using the map on her wall. She gasped, and showed me, had I taken right, (my first instinct) I would have seen the birds, only feet away.
This moment proved to be a metaphor for my life. Although it may seem unimportant, after all, we’re talking about Flamingos; to me it signified a lack of trust I have with myself, and my dreams.
Upon returning to New York, in what I refuse to believe was coincidence I began noticing flamingos everywhere. At lunch days later, a beautiful pregnant woman, sat next to me, in a white dress, covered with pink flamingos. I accepted this, as the Universe’s way of affirming my dreams, and the faith and trust I should have in them. So, onward, Flamingo, or Flemingo, Dreaming.
A Fleming, Flamingo theme day inspired by my travels, and this Flamingo Jumpsuit by Anthropologie.