Posts Tagged ‘Quiet’
Embracing the Quiet
Wednesday, February 17th, 2021
I have come to terms with doing less and being more. I have written so many things in my head that have not made their way to the page. I have come to terms with spending the past year being in the moment. While I have appreciated seeing or reading about many people being so productive this past year (learning a new skill or cleaning out rooms or closets), I have spent the last 12 months listening and tending to myself.
Instead of keeping busy, I have been quiet. With less meetings, events, baseball games, nights out, vacations, or people to get together with, my schedule became empty—and I chose to not fill it. Rather, I studied the birds out my window. And watched the starlings leave the pine tree when it became invaded by grackles. I watched the cherry trees bloom from the bare branches to large pink flowers. I marveled at the squirrels leaping from tree to tree as the great chase became a daily comedy show. I lingered with my morning coffee enjoying the ever-changing sky. Unable to read novels most of last year, I found myself downloading podcasts and binge-watching television shows. At first, I felt guilty about my inability to read, write, or facilitate (on-line) workshops. And I made the mistake of comparing myself to other people who seemed to be doing so much. Yet, friends shared that they felt just as alone and scared during this time.
I was feeling so much grief about losing people I knew to the virus, working alone in my dining room for hours, staying inside, and the loss of not seeing family and friends. In The Wild Edge of Sorrow, Francis Wheeler writes, “Grief also reveals the undeniably reality of our bond with the world…We need grief in order to heal these traumas and make sense of a world turned upside.”
I needed grief to show me the way out and show the way in. I needed this quiet time to connect me to grace and God. And I needed to embrace the quiet within myself. Am not sure what this time will mean to me years from now or what lessons it will have given me. But I know that I have appreciated the small things, like long walks, songbirds, books, my sister’s homemade meals, and the need to not rush anywhere. For now, the quiet feels like a homecoming. And for today, I am embracing the quiet.
When Birds Squawk, I Listen
Thursday, January 23rd, 2020
One of the things I love about the winter is looking out my window and bird watching. It is especially beautiful this time of year because the trees are bare, so the birds are easier to see and find. The cardinals hang out in my backyard and the blue jays sprawl to the highest height to look around. The mockingbirds hang out on the utility wire and the small sparrows find their way to the bottom of the bushes. I like to think they are “hunkering down” when the winds, rain, and snow comes blowing their way.
I have noticed that there have been less birds this winter. As I sit with my coffee on the weekends, I look out my window and notice that the sky is quiet – not a single bird around me. I wasn’t sure what had changed from last winter to this one until a hawk appeared a few weeks ago right outside my window. Now I know why the birds were hiding – they are afraid of the hawk!
This past weekend the birds returned to the front and back of the house. I love watching their behavior. Suddenly, a blue jay started screaming. It was clearly an alarm to the other birds that there was danger nearby. It began to imitate the red-tailed hawk. The loud screams and distressed cries were a warning to other birds. Quickly, birds began to flee and disappear to get away from the hawk.
I began to think about the birds and their survival techniques. I thought about how they support and defend one another (not always, I know). But I was reminded how the blue jays quickly began to warn the other birds when they knew danger was coming. I admired that the blue jays knew when and how to cry out for help and the other birds listened. Sometimes, I too, have no words when I want to cry out for help. Sometimes I want to scream out when I see other family members or friends in danger or sense their pain. Sometimes, I too, want to hunker down and feel the protection of the shrubs and the miracle of nature.
I haven’t yet mastered the wild call of the blue jays to warn others nor have I mastered my ability to cry out when I need more support. Maybe the blue jays will show me how. Maybe the birds will give me the gift of knowing when to appear and when to hunker down. For now, I listen to the call of the birds as a reminder that everything will be alright.