Eagles Don’t Fly With Pigeons — And Neither Should You

There’s a saying that stopped me cold recently.

Eagles don’t fly with pigeons.

It sounds harsh at first. Almost arrogant. But sit with it for a second — because it’s not about superiority. It’s about alignment. It’s about the simple, brutal truth that if you spend your life trying to fit into a flock that isn’t yours, you will spend your life pretending to be something smaller than what you are.

Today I interviewed Christina Himmel — South Florida attorney, IP litigator, former Miami Dolphins NFL cheerleader, and one of the most authentically herself people I’ve had in this chair.

She grew up here in South Florida. Danced from the age of three. Made it onto the official Miami Dolphins cheerleading squad while studying Finance at the University of Miami. Then she walked into law school — and deleted her Facebook.

Not because she was ashamed. But because she knew.

She knew that the world she was entering — the world of men in suits, of legal prestige, of academic seriousness — would not see a cheerleader and a top lawyer as the same person. So she made herself smaller. She hid the part of herself that danced, that performed, that was playful and light and alive — so the other part could be taken seriously.

She graduated 5th out of 357 in her class. Summa cum laude. 3.90 GPA. She was labeled a “gunner” by classmates because of how hard she worked.

And nobody knew she used to kick with the Dolphins.

When she told me that story, something shifted in the room.

Because I’ve lived that story. Not in a law firm. Not in a courtroom. But in offices, in rooms, in social circles — my entire life.

I have spent years being the pigeon.

Not because I am a pigeon. But because I learned early that being too outgoing, too charismatic, too energetic, too much — made certain people uncomfortable. And when certain people get uncomfortable, they find ways to tell you to dim it down. They don’t always say it directly. They don’t need to. A look. A remark. A subtle retaliation born from insecurity dressed up as professionalism.

So I learned to shrink.

To arrive in a room and immediately calculate: how much of myself is welcome here?

This is what happens when eagles try to fly with pigeons.

You don’t become a pigeon. You just fly lower. You clip your own wingspan. You convince yourself that this — this smaller, safer, quieter version — is just who you are.

It isn’t.

Christina figured that out. She has since embraced both identities — the dancer and the litigator — and written openly about it: I am not the perfect fit for the legal world. But I am authentic if nothing else. She still performs at halftime during alumni games. She still shows up as exactly who she is.

That took courage. The quiet kind — the kind nobody claps for because it doesn’t look dramatic from the outside.

One of the things this project keeps confirming — and Christina today was another example of it — is that when two people sit down and actually share their stories, they always find the place where the paths cross.

Her chapter of hiding to be accepted and my chapter of shrinking to be tolerated — they’re the same chapter, written in different handwriting.

That’s the whole point of this.

Our journeys are more similar than different. The details change. The feeling doesn’t.

You’ve dimmed yourself too. I’d bet on it.

The question is — for how long?

— Matteo

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