Flying High: A Kite, A Memory & A Shift in Perspective

“Sometimes it is the quiet observer that sees the most.” - Kathryn Nelson

Flying High: A Kite, A Memory, and A Shift in Perspective

There are moments from childhood that stay with us—not because they were perfect, but because they quietly taught us something. This memory, filled with wind, string, and wonder, recently reminded me how perspective can shift everything.

When I was a child, I loved going to the beach to fly kites. Sometimes the whole family would come along; other times, it was just Dad and me. Our kite was simple—a diamond shape with bright colours and a long, flowing tail.

Usually, Dad would hold it up high while I stepped back, waiting for the wind to catch. I’d run to help it lift, hoping to keep it steady. But it wasn’t always easy. Some days, the wind was too strong, and the kite would dive sharply into the sand. Other times, it danced wildly from side to side until I could find its rhythm. I tried everything—running, standing still, letting out more string—and each time, the conditions were different. There wasn’t a single “right” way to keep it in the air.

Most attempts ended in knots or crashes, but one day, everything aligned. I wasn’t sure what I had done differently, but the kite soared. It caught the breeze and rose steadily, higher and higher, until it floated like magic against a clear blue sky. I stood still, mesmerised, letting out more string with every breath, careful not to disturb that perfect flight.

I remember wondering what it would be like to be that high—to see the ocean, the grass, the people, and maybe even myself, all from above. To take it all in. To feel that free.

Lately, this memory has returned to me—like a quiet nudge.

It reminds me of how I move through my daily life: feet on the ground, navigating experiences both beautiful and challenging. We encounter people, places, tasks, and emotions that often feel overwhelming. And yet, what if—in those sticky, uncomfortable moments—we could take on the perspective of the kite?

What if we could lift ourselves up, just for a moment, and look down with compassion and clarity? Not to detach, but to observe. To witness ourselves with a little more distance and a lot more kindness. From up there, things often appear less tangled. What feels enormous up close might simply be another turn in the breeze.

Sometimes the answers we seek aren’t in pushing harder or moving faster—but in rising above for a while. To see the bigger picture. To ask, not “Is this good or bad?” but “What am I learning? What is this teaching me?”

Maybe all we need is a breath, a pause, a shift in perspective.
Maybe sometimes, we just need to soar like a kite.