I'm very happy being me, although sometimes I'd love to be a bird

Hear the gentle yet profound words of Joy Fielding, who said: “I’m very happy being me, although sometimes I’d love to be a bird so that I could fly.” In this simple confession lies a truth as vast as the sky itself — the eternal balance between contentment and longing, between the peace of knowing oneself and the yearning for freedom that all souls share. It is a quote that whispers of gratitude, yet sighs with wonder; it acknowledges the beauty of one’s own being, while still dreaming of what lies beyond the horizon.

To be happy being oneself — this is the first and greatest triumph of the spirit. Many wander through life chasing the shadows of others, trying to wear masks not shaped for their faces. Yet Fielding’s words remind us that the soul’s highest harmony comes not from imitation, but from acceptance. To love oneself is to come home to one’s own nature — to sit beside one’s heart and say, “You are enough.” But the second half of her saying, the wish to be a bird, reveals another side of our humanity — the divine restlessness, the spark within that refuses to be still. Even the most contented heart carries dreams of flight.

The bird here is not merely a creature of feather and bone — it is a symbol of freedom, of transcendence, of the spirit’s eternal desire to rise above the earth. Since the dawn of time, humanity has gazed upward and envied the sky. From Icarus, who dared to soar too close to the sun, to Leonardo da Vinci, who filled his notebooks with sketches of wings, the dream of flight has always been the dream of liberation. And yet, Fielding’s wisdom lies in the balance: she would love to fly, yes, but she is still happy to be herself. This is not discontent — it is aspiration without self-rejection.

Such balance is rare. Many either cling so tightly to the ground that they never dream, or chase the sky so blindly that they forget who they are. True wisdom lies between — to root oneself in love of self, while still stretching toward the infinite. Think of Maya Angelou, who once wrote, “A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.” She, too, spoke of the bird as a mirror of the human soul — bound by circumstance yet free in spirit. The bird in Fielding’s heart is that same voice of wonder: not a cry for escape, but a hymn to possibility.

The ancients would have understood this longing. The philosopher Plato spoke of the soul as a winged creature, once divine, now bound to earth, yearning always to return to the heavens. And yet, he taught that to become whole, one must first know oneself — for no flight can begin from confusion. In this light, Fielding’s words shine with wisdom: she accepts her humanity even as she dreams of more. She loves her life, her limits, her form — and from that acceptance, the dream of flying becomes not a rejection of her nature, but a celebration of it. The desire to fly, then, is not born from dissatisfaction, but from imagination — the creative pulse that keeps life vivid.

But we must learn this: even those who cannot grow wings can still soar. To fly is not always to rise above the earth; it is to rise above fear, to lift the heart beyond doubt. Every act of courage, every work of beauty, every moment of forgiveness is a flight of the spirit. When we sing, when we dream, when we love — we are already the bird. The sky, after all, is not only above us; it lives within the wide chambers of the heart.

So let this be your teaching, O seeker of peace and freedom: Be content, yet never cease to dream. Love yourself as you are, but do not let that love chain you to stillness. Accept the earth, but remember the sky. For contentment without wonder becomes stagnation, and longing without gratitude becomes despair. The wise walk between both — their feet firm on the ground, their gaze lifted toward the sun.

Therefore, wake each day with a heart that says: “I am happy being me, yet I still dream of flight.” For this is the perfect balance — the peace of acceptance joined with the fire of aspiration. Let your love for yourself be the ground from which your dreams take wing. And when you look to the heavens and feel the stir of longing, smile — for even the bird, flying high above, sometimes looks down and longs for the warmth of the earth.