0.The Fool

When I was younger, I used to make fun of my grandparents for birdwatching. It always seemed like such an old person’s hobby. It was never mean-spirited or anything like that, just innocent fun. You just don’t realize when you’re young that you will one day be old too. Kids think they are invincible. It’s what I admire most about them. That complete fearlessness as they begin to face the world. Still young enough that they can’t imagine life will ever be anything but kind to them. It’s strange to think about how quickly that perspective changes. Of course, most of the ideas one has as a child will change as they age. For example, as a 13-year-old I swore I would never be the old lady that just watches the birds all day. I was going to be cool. I would know exactly how to work technology, and I’d understand, and use, the current slang without sounding like I was trying too hard. Ambitious, I know. But it’s good to have goals.

That said, as a child I also swore I’d never get old at all. I would be young and carefree forever. The idea of working some boring office job and paying bills just wasn’t something I wanted for myself. It still isn’t if I’m completely honest. We often overlook those more mundane aspects of life. Not every job is fun, but they are necessary. And now that I’ve done my time working in an office, I think I’m allowed to admit that I don’t want to do it anymore. This idea of what it would mean to be old makes more sense when you keep in mind that for a 13-year-old, “old” does usually mean anyone older than 30. and once you’re getting to be in your late twenties it means 45. And at the end of your thirties old is at least 50. No one ever wants to be old, so we continue to push back and call ourselves young for as long as we possibly can.

Oddly enough, I did get old. Both by 13-year-old and 30-year-old standards. My early teenage self would be so disappointed in me. I did the best I could, but time doesn’t exactly work around our ideas of what life should look like. Now, nearly 60 years after making fun of my grandparents, I find myself both old and completely enchanted by the birds out in my yard. I couldn’t tell you exactly when the hobby started. It’s one of those things that is a slippery slope. First, it’s just noticing that the same bird flies by your window each morning. After that maybe a small birdhouse. It’s innocent enough, everyone does it. But before you know it you have a log of what birds you see each morning, afternoon, and evening, and your neighbor Jill is obviously lying when she says she saw a Robin this morning because you know damn well the Robin is found here in the winter and it was 102 degrees today.

Though I suppose that does not really matter. I am very happy with the species I find in my own yard. I have even spent hours researching what combinations of flowers and other plants would attract the widest variety of species and made sure to cultivate the perfect yard for all my winged friends. Currently, the third tree to the left of the sidewalk is home to a nest full of baby blackbirds. They’ve only recently hatched and have just begun to explore the possibility of flying on their own. They have quickly become my favorite birds to watch, I’ve been with them since they were born. I’ve seen them grow and change along with the world around them. It’s a beautiful thing, truly. To be able to bear witness to the little miracles that life has to offer. It’s such a small thing, and while it is only a very brief part of my life, I can’t help but adore them. I watch as one carefully makes its way to the edge of the nest, looks out at the world beyond, then takes a step back for what I can only assume is the fear of falling.

It reminds me a lot of me. When I finished high school, I took a gap year and told everyone I just wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted to do yet. And this wasn’t a lie, I had never thought much beyond graduation. But the deeper reason was that I was terrified I would never know what I wanted to do. That there would be nothing I could find that meant anything to me. So, I avoided it. I worked at a small restaurant where failure was impossible, and I let that be my only goal. I convinced myself I was happy too, that there was nothing more I needed out of life. Every time I looked into more schooling, whether it was universities, community colleges, trade schools, or online classes, I would take a step back out of fear. I was afraid I would fail at whatever I did. That I would fall. But here is where birds have the advantage. They don’t view falling as failure. But rather by falling they have just learned one more time how not to fly. Then they get up and try again.

This little bird will go through this back-and-forth routine multiple times throughout the day, always curious about what lies beyond but never quite brave enough to go and see for itself. It knows there is more out there, more than it can see from its tree. No matter how scary the jump may seem, it’s nothing compared to the belief in the wonder of the rest of the world. For young birds, that hope is evident in everything they do. There is blind faith in their mother, and her ability to bring them food when they need it. There is faith in what they cannot see as they take a leap out of the nest in search of what lies beyond. But none of that can come without first overcoming fear. Fear is not inherently a bad thing. It keeps us safe and warns us when a situation could cause trouble.

For the little bird, a little fear is completely understandable. Everything she has ever known is in that nest, and the ground is a long fall away. It is much easier, much safer, to just stay in the nest and let its mother go out and face the world. Leaving would be a risk. One that I may know is worth taking, but this little bird has no way to be sure. Her fear is completely rational, and simply a product of her naivety. She hasn’t had the chance to learn about what more she could do with those wings. About how far and how high she can soar. Even when she does leave the nest, there will still be so much to see that can never be learned through anything other than experience. These things take time, as do most things worth doing.

I watch as the mother returns to the nest with food. Her children watch as she circles the nest, gliding through the breeze. She lands, and once again that baby bird makes its way to the edge. Whatever is out there must be amazing to keep her mother going back out for more. And if her mother goes out and comes back with food, surely there will be some reward out there for her as well. Is it worth it? She can always count on her mother to bring food; she wouldn’t have to take that risk herself. But would she really be happy staying in one place forever? Or will the outside find its way in eventually as it always does. We can’t protect our kids from the world forever. Eventually they must figure things out for themselves. One day they will have to learn to fly. With a newfound boldness, the bird looks out, weighing the risks of jumping. She looks back once at her mother, then takes the leap.

She falls…

She flies!

Hesitantly at first, unsure of what all the skies might hold. Leaving the nest was just the first step; now, a world full of possibilities awaits. She’s just begun the rest of her life. She’s free to make her own way, to make new friends, to make mistakes, to learn and grow, or to fly all the way to the ends of the Earth. Sure, she might fall occasionally, but not nearly as often or as far as she will fly. All because she held on to the hope that there is more to the world than what she already knows. Her innocence might be thought of as foolish or naïve. But those who have lived know it better as faith in the good that there is in the world. Faith in the idea that there is more. Most importantly, faith in yourself and all you can accomplish. All you have to do is channel your inner child and take that first fearless leap into the unknown.