Now that we have a spot that we call home, my bestie and I have taken to spreading birdseed outside the RV.
It’s for the cats, we said.
For their entertainment, we agreed.
And every morning, I peer out the window upon awakening to see which of our fine feathered friends are out there to greet me.
True, the cats always beat me to it. Even Arlo, who only recently discovered the joy of watching birds. And now that the hummingbirds come to feed on the sugar water in the feeder attached to one of the windows, it’s almost too much for his little soul to bear.
But he has learned that if he sits still, the wee little ones will stick around, fluttering their wings and lapping up nectar.
In the mornings, Gatsby and Nola are the first to check out the status of our visitors, sweeping a curtain aside to sit, noses pressed to glass, chattering and mewing at the activity on the ground.
Bubs even takes part on occasion.
But, before I crawl out of bed, as the first hints of dawn tinge the sky a lavender grey, awareness arrives with the sweet melodies of songbirds celebrating a new day.
I can’t tell you what a difference this is for me. To come back from wherever I go when I sleep with bird songs and a smile turning up the corners of my mouth rather than a flood of stress and worry seeping in before I’m even fully awake.
Of course, it isn’t always this way, but I’d say the scales tip heavily in favor of waking up to joy first.
To notice the subtle changes in light, to be grateful for another sunrise in this magical place, to celebrate with the birds.
Oddly enough, even when I feel the weight of my job or other life stressors, even when I awake at the 2:00 witching hour, bringing my brain’s processing into consciousness, I often notice that I somehow have a smile on my face. Not an ear-to-ear grin, but a smile of contentment.
It’s almost as if my essential self, the me behind the me, is telling me that my worries are small potatoes. That I’ve got this. That whatever it is my brain is rattling on about isn’t really of any consequence.
Peace sits outside of our worries. We only have to cultivate it.
And then notice it.
As I’ve made my way through purposeful self-discovery, self-love, and healing, I’ve learned that peace doesn’t replace fear, worry, or any of those other troubling human feelings.
Instead, it wraps its warmth around those emotions, easing them, smoothing the harsh edges.
It isn’t an either-or thing. It’s an in-spite-of thing.
And if you don’t step outside of your thoughts to notice the peace, you miss it.
I’m not sure when I started noticing birds. I just know that at some point, I did. And when I caught myself watching them, observing their movements and interactions with other birds and the environment, I chalked it up to aging.
I know I’m getting old because it seems I’m suddenly into birds. That’s what I told myself.
Next, it’ll be gardening, I laugh to myself.
And, yes, I do want to garden. I want my hands in the dirt and the satisfaction of watching flowers bloom or plucking a nice, fat, juicy red tomato off the vine and eating it.
For, now, though, I’m content with noticing the spotted towhees, white-crowned sparrows, grossbeaks, cowbirds, doves, and dark-eyed juncos kick about and scratch in the dirt or splash in the bird bath. I’m enamored of the rufous and Calliope hummingbirds. I’m in awe of the bald eagles and the Cooper’s hawk that swooped onto a low branch earlier today.
I realized, though, that age doesn’t really have anything to do with it.
I think that we often chalk up bird watching to aging because it’s only when most of us get older that we slow down enough to notice the small things.
Going for a hike or camping was always about the joys of being in nature for me. But it was also the adventure and the grandeur of the big spaces: the thick woods, the towering mountains, or the tumultuous waves rolling against a rugged coastline.
Getting out in nature is still very much those things, but it’s also something more. When I left the traditional work world five years ago to travel in an RV, my life slowed way down. I jumped off the treadmill and onto the meandering path.
I notice the birds now because I’ve opted for a slower pace and a living arrangement that puts nature right in front of my eyes almost every waking hour. Getting outside is easy.
Observing the wildlife, the new flowers that I know didn’t bloom last year in the flowerbed behind the RV, and the way the light glows and bounces off the leaves as they tremor in the gentle breeze is easy.
I just returned from a “vacation.” My parents traveled out this way, and Gail and I drove to the nearby state park so we could spend the 10 days my folks were here in close proximity.
Though the time flew SO fast, it also felt like we were living outside of time.
Our days were full…
Of movement and moments,
laughter and love,
of conversation and quiet.
I noticed the quality of each person’s voice, as my eyes focused on the dancing embers in the campfire that erased other distractions while I listened to the conversation around me.
I felt my mom’s warm energy as we walked arm-in-arm over the rocky beach.
I noticed how the color of the rocks changed when I scraped away the dry layer on top to reveal the still-wet rocks sitting just beneath the surface.
I caught my stepdad’s joy and excitement as we explored Port Townsend, filling me with a renewed appreciation for this area.
I spent early morning hours sitting with Gatsby in my lap, a cup of coffee in my hand, and my bare feet on the ground. I noticed my cat’s pure delight in rolling in the dirt.
I went to bed remembering why I am here. In this present moment, on this journey, and in this human experience.
Or at least part of the reason.
It’s to experience living in all its colorful facets, to notice the subtleties and the grandeur. To feel the greatness of the smallest of beings and the smallness of the tallest mountains.
To recognize that I am both infinitely small and infinitely expansive.
To notice that I am here, now, and that is enough.
So, my friends, I invite you to take a moment and feel the essence of you, to absorb your surroundings.
What do you notice?
I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
Peace and love,
Desserae
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