Blackbird

Blackbird is often misunderstood as a quiet song about birds and broken wings.

It isn’t.

Paul McCartney wrote it during the Civil Rights Movement, inspired by the courage of Black Americans pushing forward in a world that kept telling them to wait, to be patient, to stay small. The blackbird wasn’t fragile. It was resilient. It had been grounded, wounded, restrained — and still learning how to rise.

That context matters.

Because the song isn’t saying everything is fine now. It’s saying you are ready now.

That’s why the line lands the way it does:

“You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

Not waiting because you lacked courage. Not waiting because you were afraid. Waiting because preparation doesn’t always look like motion.

Sometimes preparation looks like endurance. Like surviving seasons you didn’t choose. Like learning how to stand when your wings feel broken.

The moment doesn’t arrive because the world suddenly becomes welcoming. It arrives because you’ve grown strong enough to move anyway.

That’s the quiet power of the song.

It’s not a call to rush. It’s permission to rise.

If something in your life feels like it’s been circling for a long time — a change, a truth, a step forward — maybe you haven’t been avoiding it.

Maybe you’ve been becoming.

And when the moment finally shows itself, it won’t ask if you’re fearless. It will simply ask if you’re willing.

Because sometimes the waiting was never the problem.

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.