the birds and the bees
Let me tell you ‘bout
The birds and the bees
And the flowers and the trees.
Actually, they were bushes. Well, more like hedges and a possible shrub. But I digress.
In a recent post, I talked about noticing and enjoying anew the treasures already surrounding you, as if you were someone else from somewhere else seeing them for the very first time. That little exercise in focus and appreciation sparked a heightened awareness in me (funny how that happens); and in the days that followed, I had many moments where colors seemed more vibrant, smells more potent — even memories more vivid.
BEFORE YOU CONTINUE: I began this blog post on October 17, when the world up here in the Northeast was still green. It’s now the day after Christmas, and I’m continuing from an airport. At first, I thought it best to scrap this blog post with so much time having passed. Maybe I’d revisit it next year. But then it occurred to me that there’s something in the “sudden” passage of 10 weeks that speaks to the point I was trying to make all along: if we don’t remain intentional and vigilant, if we don’t make time for worthwhile moments in our lives, time keeps doing what it has always done. It passes.
One day last week, I returned home after running some errands, parked in my usual spot and headed inside. But I was stopped short. We’re smack dab in the middle of fall here in New England, and, thanks to my newly awakened “super senses,” it struck me as exceptional how warm the sunlight felt as I stood there on the porch, one hand on the open storm door.
I had a choice to make — a small one in the scope of things, but a choice nonetheless. I could continue the expected forward motion into the house, up the stairs, and back to the office where I would resume the work I knew was waiting for me there. Or … I could linger a while longer on the porch, sit to face the sun full on and soak in some of that warmth I knew would all too soon be replaced by the biting cold of winter.
I let go of the door and it eased itself shut. I slipped out of my shoes and used my toes to peel my socks off. The heated concrete beneath my feet felt as gratifying as the sands of any beach just then.
I went so far as to actually sit down on that top step. I briefly told myself that whatever it was that needed to get done upstairs could wait a while longer and would still get done. And then I closed my eyes — and just breathed.
After a few minutes of thinking about … well, nothing much, really … that hyperawareness surged in me again.
I heard a specific bird call, and it was coming from somewhere quite close by. As I opened my eyes, they focused in the direction of the sound. Then I saw him between the gaps in the hedgerow in front of me, hopping from twig to twig as he sang.
It brought me back to a time some years back when I had sat looking out of a window in my then apartment and had noticed a bird, heard him pipping away as he sat perched there on the peak of the outcropping over the door below. I had decided that I wanted to know what kind of bird that was — to learn something new — and I had learned that it was a house sparrow. Perhaps not the most exotic finding, but it had felt exhilarating to know it all the same.
Now, sitting in the warmth of the sunlight on the porch step of my new home, I found myself once again wanting to know. So I took note of the call, resolving to do some research when the moment was over.
Just as I was thinking such things, something to my left — something small and rather close to my head — caught my eye. I turned. It was a honey bee probing about the holly bush beside the porch.
The beginnings of a smile tugged at a corner of my mouth as genuine curiosity rose. The little bee hovered and dove, hovered and dove. But what would a bee find of interest on a holly bush? Holly doesn’t have flowers.
However, as my eyes narrowed and my nose drew closer — there were, in fact, tiny white flowers with yellow centers nestled together here and there among the waxy dark green leaves and telltale clusters of deep red berries.
My first inclination was to conclude that the bush only appeared to have been a holly bush, but that it must really have been something else. I determined to add it to my internet search along with the bird call.
I watched a while longer. Then, as the bee apparently decided he’d collected his fill and buzzed off, I took it as a good time to do the same.
Reluctantly, I headed inside and up to the office; but the work was still firmly on the back burner. I jumped onto Google and began the quest to scratch the inquisitive itching that had started out on the porch.
My aural memory served me well and I was able to pinpoint the bird: a chickadee. What’s more, I learned that the name of the bird apparently is an onomatopoeia of its call: chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee.
Next, I looked into whatever the bush was that was mimicking holly. Come to find out … it was holly. Holly does have flowers after all.
Huh. Whaddaya know.
If you ever want to experience afresh the best parts of childhood, there’s nothing quite like true curiosity that leads to exploration and learning something new in the world. In this case, I’d also unlearned something. Bonus.
That half hour or so of my life was remarkable — enough so to be writing about it now. I’ll remember it.
The alternate reality I’d have lived out if I’d continued my usual path from car to door to stairs to office to work … would have been neither remarkable nor memorable. It would have merely blended into the myriad other surrounding moments just like it.
And it occurred to me once again that the difference between a remarkable life and an unremarkable one comes down to mindfulness and choices made in moments.
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What a perfect post, Erik, to start a New Year!
You know, my wife and I were just discussing how seldom it is we take the time to slow down and just be. Nowadays, there’s always the next thing to get to: the next item to cross off the to-do list, the next recorded show to watch on the DVR, the next moment to fill with more noise or more spectacle. It was the Who’s Roger Daltrey that once said: “It’s when you’re doing nothing… that we get our great thoughts, and our great artistic ideas. You know, you get epiphanies. You’re never gonna get it when you’re being fed stuff all the time.” Now more than ever, in our ever-on telecommunications age, we need to learn to make the conscious choice to slow down and look around, because the world is a treadmill designed to keep us running without the possibility of ever catching up. So we need to ask ourselves: What is it we’re running toward? What is it we think is down the road, over yonder, that we don’t already have right in front of us?
Happy New Year, my friend! Hopeful for a year of good writing and thought-provoking debate ahead…
Sean
Hey, Sean. Thanks so much for the thoughtful comment.
I think sometimes in life, we must “run.” But I believe those “musts” are rare. The rest of the time, we choose to run, and you’re right…for what?
I wasn’t just being poetic in the post. I remember that day and those moments far more clearly than a lot of the last 10 weeks. I want to make time for that kind of time again, on a regular basis, as a rule and not the exception. I’ve been pretty good at it historically, but I think I lost my way a bit amid the changes that came unbidden in the last year (most sad family things). Those things were beyond the realm of choice; but perhaps even more during those times, it’s important to be even more intentional about slowing down, breathing and just “being.”
2016 was a period of tumultuous surprises for all of us, it seems, but there is something about the fresh slate of a new year that emboldens one’s commitment to his resolutions. If “breathing and just being” is something you want to practice more consciously and habitually in the coming months, just write that down somewhere you’ll see it everyday, so you won’t forget to make time for it!
My biggest problem is that there is never just one thing I want to be doing more of. It’s the story of my life, really. But it’s a story I’d rather be telling and living than being bored and not having any ideas as to what I might do.
But you’re right, Sean: the simple things still work, like writing down goals and (re)viewing them often. Most people would would assent to that; but few people actually do them, because they seem almost too simple and surely “I’m smart enough to do without that.” (I think I’ll go do it right now!)
Lovely post, Eric, and wonderful to find you in good spirits and healthy, doing your life. You wrap the whole post up beautifully in the end with “the difference between a remarkable life and an unremarkable one comes down to mindfulness and choices made in moments.” As I head out now to lug wood in my wheelbarrow, I’m going to take a moment to notice that the sun is actually out. And it’s probably glistening on the frozen melting world. I wonder what else I’ll notice 🙂
So happy to think that my words might cause someone to notice the sunshine (and keep their eyes open for more free treasures besides). I love your word pictures here.
Have you ever read One Man’s Meat by E. B. White? I received it as a Christmas gift, and it has made me think of you more than once. Lovely word pictures and lots of good “noticing.”
EB White is a favorite author of mine, but I’ve never read that book. I’ll have to pick it up. I did take some time to notice the little treasures outside, and sure enough, there was a little bird keeping me company. And we have icicles! We never have icicles out here.
You got a genuine exclamation of enjoyment and laughter from me on that one, followed by a contented sigh. Thanks for sharing your treasures.