The Hummingbird in the Atrium

Sometimes a metaphor finds you.

In a recent session, a beautiful human - an artist, academic, and mother - spoke of her days as full of motion. “I get things done,” she said, with both pride and fatigue. “I’m everywhere. Emails, meetings, projects, parenting.” She is creative - and also constantly pivoting.

As she spoke, a metaphor formed between us:
A hummingbird in a glass atrium.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Flitting from corner to corner. Wings alive with possibility.
But still inside. Not quite free.

Later that week, she created a pressed flower artwork. Voila! Metaphorical beauty.
And then later still, a real hummingbird appeared at her window visiting her flowers. As if beckoning her to come play.

Art by HK, used with permission.

There’s something quietly profound about this unfolding: what we name in words becomes visible in the beauty of her daily life, her garden, then affirmed in the world outside the window. A layered kind of truth. One that doesn't need proof to be real, but offers it anyway.

This moment reminded me of something from the Coming Home to Yourself series -particularly Week 4’s theme of Landing. That idea that we can live our lives flitting from moment to moment, idea to idea, responsibility to responsibility yet never quite touch down. We’re moving, yes. But are we arriving to and immersing in the moment?

This hummingbird seemed to say:
There’s a different kind of flight. And maybe even a place to land.