I was late for a work meeting in Gries Hall, walking in a frenzy through the canopy walk when I saw it. The scene stopped my frantic shuffling abruptly. 

I saw a crow hopping down the sidewalk, kicking up dead leaves in the wind with its beak. It was probably cackling with glee, flapping its magnificent wings, perfectly content creating its own magic in the sunlight. 

It was a startling juxtaposition. These big black birds are omens of malfeasance, harbingers of sorrow and pain. Yet this one was lost in a flighty fantasy, dancing through its own little world. 

Why was it doing that? 

From my vantage point in the glass enclosure, the bird was perfectly happy doing whatever it wanted at that very moment. I’d never really seen anything with wings hop along a sidewalk like that, and the look on the bird’s face was priceless. 

I swear to God the crow was smiling. 

The only conclusion I can come to is that the crow was dancing down the sidewalk simply because it could. It had somewhere to be, just like I did, but the crow didn’t allow that to dampen its mood. 

I found the thought really beautiful. 

People don’t really act like that. We don’t typically dance down the street to the tune of our own song. I mean, wouldn’t everyone look at you funny if you did? 

The crow’s movements reminded me of old black-and-white movies where people link arms and sing songs while dancing around the streets. The people the stars pass on the street don’t gawk or laugh or point. They usually join right into the fun. 

Real life is, of course, not like they do it in the movies, but here I was watching a crow, of all things, break the simulation. 

Currently, I work 60 hours a week at my full-time job and a part-time job on campus, plus classes, homework and my social life (or complete lack thereof). I also take 16 credit hours, three of which are studio art classes (which are each 2.5 hours long) and a fourth public relations lecture. 

Needless to say, I was the busiest I have ever been these past couple of months. I am tired. I am ready for a break. 

And that’s when it hit me. Who cares more about what I look like or what I do or how I’m perceived? Me or everyone else?

In case you are still unsure: nobody will ever care more about how you’re perceived than yourself. 

There are times in this lifetime when it looks a little darker than others. Sometimes it’s raining or snowing. Sometimes the clouds are just too thick, but even though the sun wasn’t shining as brightly that day, that crow made its own little sunbeam. 

I know now I make my own sunshine, too, and there’s no need to dampen its sheen for the comfort of others. The fact that I shine doesn’t make anyone else’s light any less bright. 

Call it what you will — “self-discovery” or “personal reflection” or “getting my crap together” — we all tend to go through some kind of an awakening when we reach our 20s. 

I certainly had my crisis a little earlier than most, but I realized I will never become something I’m not actively working toward. I will never be happy if I don’t want to put in the effort to find the happy in myself. 

It’s there people. I promise you, if you look hard enough, you will find the happiness you thought you could only find from others is already inside you. 

You are worth finding a little happiness. The easiest place to look is in the mirror.

Editor’s Note: The North Wind is committed to offering a free and open public forum of ideas, publishing a wide range of viewpoints to accurately represent the NMU student body. This is a staff column, written by an employee of the North Wind. As such, it expresses the personal opinions of the individual writer, and does not necessarily reflect the position of the North Wind Editorial Board.