Peanuts In My Pocket

A few weeks ago, someone I know asked, “Why birdwatching?” I get why he asked. It seems a little out of character given my background. I answered with something like, “It’s a chance to learn something new, to master a new photography skill, and to keep my mind occupied.” But that’s not really the story.

The real answer is that birdwatching is helping me heal, both mentally and physically.

For starters, I’m exposed to stunning beauty, even at my local regional park. The photo below is an example. I stepped out of my car, grabbed my gear, and started birding; but then I stopped and stared at this scene for a few minutes. The combination of sunrise and birds felt like magic, and apparently, it was magic just for me. Nobody else seemed interested.

The time I spent looking became a short meditation on gratitude. Gratitude for the chance to witness something beautiful. It’s not something I would have paused to think about in the past, back when soul-crushing work and poor health limited my options. I’m free of those burdens now. And thanks to my wife, I’m learning to enjoy life and these little moments.

But it’s more than gratitude. My mind is mine again.

Not that long ago, it was stuck in an endless loop of doubt and second-guessing, trying to navigate the wreckage of my last year at work and the death and complicated aftermath of a loved one. Now, my attention is focused on why a beautiful American Wigeon would be mixed in with a bunch of Mallards and Coots. A far cry from the stress of two years ago. And the fact that I can enjoy it without guilt feels profoundly satisfying.

Birdwatching is the path I walk these days. Mostly in silence, unless my wife or a friend joins me. The silence feels liberating. I don’t listen to music, except the music of birdsong. I talk to people without fear, or I ignore people without guilt. I have no customers, no meetings, and no agenda to carry. I’m at peace in a way I can’t remember ever experiencing before. And I’m grateful.

I give my wife a lot of credit for this change. She gave me guilt-free permission to walk away from my career early. I think she knew before I did that my job was killing me. It took months to feel normal again, but that was part of the challenge. I didn’t know what “normal” even meant anymore.

Now, normal means enjoying a sunrise or the quiet stillness of my own mind.

I went birding yesterday. I visited four different parks. I wasn’t likely to find any new birds at those spots, so I focused on getting good photos and contributing to science via eBird checklists.

I also ran into three people along the way.

First, I had a brief moment with an old man and his older dog. We didn’t talk beyond saying hello, but the minute I spent petting his dog felt magical. I miss my dog Rufio. Connecting with other dogs helps with the long grieving process.

Next was a walker who smiled and said, “Are you birding? Good on you, mate!” We chatted for a few minutes about the explosion of Yellow-rumped Warblers in the park and then went our separate ways.

Finally, I didn’t speak to the rude mother and small child who somehow decided I was a threat, despite my binoculars, camera, and goofy hat. Instead of responding to her inane questions, I ignored her and walked away. The old me might have argued. I just don’t need that kind of energy anymore. I can’t control what she thinks or says, but I can control my response. Walking away in silence felt right.

I took a few good photos. I’m proud of the Say’s Phoebe shown below. It’s my first decent image of the species. I captured it using a new technique, which makes it even more important. It also gives me hope for photographing birds in flight. A few shots from this trip turned out far better than any of my earlier efforts.

Tomorrow, I’m off to a new location. My target species are Cedar Waxwings and Common Gallinules. Honestly, I’m looking forward to the walk in silence even more than the birds.