If you dream of becoming an eagle, you follow your dreams and not

In the high places of the mind where courage wrestles with doubt, the actress and visionary Penny Johnson Jerald once declared: “If you dream of becoming an eagle, you follow your dreams and not the words of a bunch of chickens.” Though born in modern times, her words resound with the cadence of ancient truth. They are a clarion call to the soul — a command to rise above the noise of mediocrity and to trust one’s own wings. For those who would soar, there can be no obedience to the voices of fear that dwell among the timid and the earthbound.

In every age, the eagle has stood as a symbol of vision, freedom, and sovereignty. It flies alone, not because it despises others, but because its nature demands greater heights than the flock can bear. The chicken, by contrast, lives in safety, pecking the ground, its wings clipped not by others but by its own habit of smallness. Thus, Jerald’s words strike at the heart of all who would choose greatness: if you dream to ascend, you must not let the counsel of the low-flying bind your spirit to the dust. To listen to the fearful is to betray the destiny of your own flight.

The ancients taught that every soul carries within it the pattern of its own greatness — the divine image, yearning to unfold. But this unfolding demands solitude and daring. It demands that one walk a path few understand. The dreamer, like the eagle, must trust the unseen currents of the wind. The voices below — the chickens of fear and conformity — will cluck and mock, calling your vision madness. Yet history remembers not those who laughed, but those who flew.

Consider the story of The Wright brothers, who were told that man was not meant to fly. The learned men of their day mocked them; newspapers called them fools chasing wind. But the brothers, like eagles, looked skyward while others kept their eyes on the soil. They ignored the clamor of the chickens and listened instead to the whisper of their dream. In 1903, upon the dunes of Kitty Hawk, they proved that the impossible belongs to those who refuse to listen to the limitations of the fearful.

So too did Penny Johnson Jerald speak for the artist, the dreamer, the visionary who must believe in the worth of their calling even when others do not. To follow your dream is to walk a lonely road. There will be ridicule, misunderstanding, even scorn. But the eagle does not need the approval of the chickens to fly. It needs only the strength of its wings and the clarity of its vision. And so it is with every soul who chooses to live by faith in themselves rather than by the doubt of others.

Yet Jerald’s teaching is not one of arrogance, but of self-trust. To follow your dream is not to despise others, but to heed the truth that lives within. The wise know that advice from the fearful, though often well-meant, can become a cage. The world will always prefer safety to greatness, comfort to courage, imitation to originality. But the one who seeks the sky must learn to distinguish between caution and cowardice, between humility and self-betrayal.

The lesson, then, is this: guard your dream as sacred. Listen to the guidance of the wise, but never to the discouragement of the fearful. Measure the worth of advice not by the speaker’s comfort, but by the height of their own flight. Build your wings through discipline, patience, and courage — and when the time comes, trust the wind.

For the eagle was never meant to scratch the earth with chickens. It was born to rise, to see farther, and to live nearer to the sun. So if you dream of becoming an eagle, as Jerald counsels, do not wait for the flock to understand your flight. Spread your wings, lift your heart, and ascend. For the sky belongs only to those who dare to claim it.