When Someone Finds Their Wings
Why does another person's success sometimes inspire criticism instead of joy?
There is something extraordinary about finding something that truly feels like yours.
Something that makes your eyes light up.
Something that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning - and keeps you working long after you realize how late it has become.
You experiment. You make mistakes. You learn. You start over. Sometimes you get frustrated. Sometimes you doubt yourself. Sometimes you feel like giving up altogether.
And then, one day, something clicks.
And the feeling is incredible.
Not because someone praised you. Not because you proved anything to anyone. Not because you became better than somebody else.
But because you're doing something you genuinely love.
And you absolutely love doing it.
You can feel yourself growing. Something you couldn't do yesterday is now within your reach. New possibilities begin to open up. And the further you go, the more you want to keep going.
It's almost as if you're beginning to grow wings.
And this is where something happens that I still struggle to understand.
Why can't everyone be happy when someone around them begins to find their wings?
Especially people who have known you for years.
They see you changing. They see the time and effort you put into your work. They see the results beginning to take shape.
And yet, instead of a little encouragement, sometimes there's a strange silence.
Not a word.
Not a reaction.
Not even the slightest indication that they're interested in what you've been doing with your life.
And this isn't really about likes.
It's not about hearts under photographs, comments, or shares.
Those are just small expressions of something much more meaningful.
Genuine interest in another person.
Sometimes all it takes is a simple question: "How's it going?"
Or: "Hey, it's great that you're doing this."
You don't have to understand music, filmmaking, photography, dancing, or whatever else someone might be passionate about.
You don't have to pretend to be amazed.
You don't have to praise something you don't like.
You can simply recognize that another person is happy doing what they love.
Shouldn't that alone be enough to make us at least a little happy for them?
But sometimes something entirely different happens.
Someone who, until recently, insisted they knew absolutely nothing about what you do suddenly becomes an expert.
They weren't particularly interested while you were learning. They didn't ask about the challenges you faced. They didn't notice how many times you had to start over.
But the moment you produce something worthwhile, they suddenly have an opinion.
And often a remarkably confident one.
About what you did wrong.
What your work is missing.
What you should have done differently.
How it could have been better.
And you find yourself wondering:
Where was all this expertise before?
Why has it appeared only now?
When I was learning, nobody was rushing to explain how things should be done. When I made mistakes, nobody was particularly eager to help. When I was trying to figure things out, few people seemed especially interested.
But once something finally worked, suddenly there was plenty to evaluate.
Coincidence? Perhaps.
An honest opinion? Quite possibly.
But when it happens repeatedly, you begin to wonder.
Why is it sometimes easier for people to notice a flaw in someone else's work than to acknowledge how far that person has come?
Why should someone who has found something they love ever feel the need to justify their own happiness?
Why does another person's success sometimes seem to make people uncomfortable?
I'm not suggesting that jealousy is always the explanation.
People are different, and so are their reasons. Some simply don't know how to express encouragement. Some genuinely believe criticism is more useful than praise. Others may notice weaknesses the creator hasn't seen.
And that's perfectly fair.
But sometimes the feeling is different.
As though what bothers someone isn't that you've done something wrong.
It's that you're beginning to get something right.
As though your growth has somehow disturbed the familiar order of things.
Yesterday, you were someone they knew. Someone predictable. Someone who occupied a familiar place in their world.
Today, you're trying something new.
Tomorrow, you're doing things you couldn't do before.
And the day after that, you're achieving something that once seemed impossible.
Suddenly, not everyone seems comfortable watching you move forward.
Why?
Can another person's growth really feel like a threat?
Does seeing someone rise somehow make us feel smaller?
Someone else's wings don't take away our own.
That's the part I find so difficult to understand.
I love watching people who are genuinely talented and passionate about what they do.
When someone plays an instrument so beautifully that you forget everything around you. When someone dances and you can't take your eyes off them. When someone sings and something inside you shifts…
It moves me.
I can watch, listen, experience an extraordinary rush of emotion, and simply feel grateful that someone is capable of creating something so beautiful.
I don't spend that moment wondering whether they're better than I am.
I don't search for something to criticize.
I don't feel the need to explain what they're missing.
I'm simply happy that I get to see it, hear it, and feel it.
Let them fly on their own wings!
Let them soar higher.
Let them become even better.
Isn't that a wonderful thing?
And I wish we could feel that same happiness not only for famous musicians, actors, artists, and athletes.
But for the people right beside us.
For someone we know who steps onto a stage for the first time.
For a friend who writes a song.
For someone who starts making films.
For the person who launches a business, learns to paint, masters an instrument, runs their first marathon, or finally finds the courage to pursue something they've dreamed about for years.
Because behind every achievement is a human life.
Late nights.
Moments of doubt.
Failed attempts we may never know about.
And sometimes, when someone shares something they've created, they're not simply showing us a finished piece of work.
They're sharing a part of themselves.
Of course, that doesn't mean we have to admire everything.
We all have our own tastes, perspectives, and interests.
I might not like someone else's song. I might not connect with a film. A photograph might do nothing for me.
But I can still be happy that someone created something of their own.
And increasingly, I find myself thinking about the difference between offering an honest opinion and feeling compelled to point out a flaw.
Criticism can be valuable. Sometimes it helps us see things we would otherwise miss.
But what matters isn't only what we say.
It's also why, when, and how we say it.
Especially when nobody asked us to evaluate their work in the first place.
Maybe that person simply wanted to share a moment of happiness.
Maybe it was something deeply important to them.
Maybe they were opening up about something intensely personal without expecting any particular response.
And in moments like those, perhaps demonstrating our expertise matters less than recognizing what the person beside us is experiencing.
We don't have to feel exactly what they feel.
But we can treat those feelings with care.
I'm not interested in accusing anyone. I'm not looking for villains or trying to pass judgment on anyone's friendship.
I simply find myself returning to one question:
Why is it sometimes easier to find fault with someone else's flight than to celebrate the fact that they've finally taken off?
Because support doesn't always mean giving someone money, time, or connections.
Sometimes it's simply paying attention.
Sometimes it's a short message.
Sometimes it's a sincere "I'm happy for you."
And sometimes it's just a few words that someone will remember for a very long time.
As the years go by, I'm beginning to understand how much those words can matter.
Not because we can't move forward without them.
We can.
We can keep working, learning, creating, and pursuing our dreams even when nobody seems to notice the effort.
But imagine how much more beautiful the world could be if we didn't just try to fly ourselves, but also knew how to celebrate someone else's flight.
If another person's talent inspired us instead of making us compare ourselves.
If someone else's success didn't feel like our own defeat.
If another person's happiness didn't immediately make us look for something wrong with it.
Because someone else's success takes nothing away from us.
Their joy doesn't diminish ours.
Their achievements don't make our own less meaningful.
And their wings don't stop us from spreading ours.
So if there's someone in your life who has found something that makes their eyes light up, be happy for them.
You don't have to become their biggest fan.
You don't have to agree with everything they do.
Just don't diminish their joy.
And if you can, encourage them.
Because sometimes all a person needs to hear is:
"You love doing this? Then keep doing it. Keep that fire alive!"
And let them fly.
On their own wings.
As high as they can.
After all, the sky doesn't get any smaller when someone else learns to fly.
Alexei Bautin
Filmmaker. Photographer. Songwriter.
Some stories need a voice.
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