For the Birds
As we approach what I hope to be the end of COVID-19 pandemic isolation, I have been
reflecting on how my life and perceptions of it have shifted. Before the pandemic shut the
world down, I was living what seems to be a pretty typical life for a person in my life stage.
I would wake up, rush kids out the door to school, throw myself together, go to work, rush
out of work to drive or pick kids up from a practice/carpool, eat dinner quickly so that I could
rush to arehearsal or meeting, come home late to a house already asleep, go to bed, and
wake up the next morning to do the whole thing all over again. The focus was on the task
list, on getting to the next “thing.” There was not much room for quiet or stillness.
When the pandemic hit, all of the running stopped with such force that I think a lot of us
ended up with a form of emotional or psychological whiplash. Life was suddenly much
quieter, which was challenging and disorienting at first, but it ultimately allowed me to
notice parts of the natural world for which I hadn’t the bandwidth in my pre-COVID life.
This past fall, I decided to purchase a bird feeder. I knew there was an abundance of birds
in the trees near our house. I could hear them every morning and throughout the day, but I
never really saw my avian neighbors beyond a robin or two poking around in the lawn after
a rainstorm during the spring and summer. Within a day of hanging the feeder, a new world
revealed itself. The first visitors were the brash and fearless – but adorable – black-capped
chickadees, followed shortly thereafter by their cousin the tufted titmouse. Soon there was
a steady stream of visitors – cardinals, goldfinches, dark-eyed juncos, downy and red bellied
woodpeckers, nuthatches – the usual hardy year-round residents. I was hooked.
The daily drama at the feeder was so compelling, I preferred it to actual TV. Before I knew it I
was noticing birds everywhere I went. A whole world that existed right alongside me that had
once been invisible was suddenly visible because I started to pay attention. The wonder and
awe I have experienced discovering the rich and complex world of my feathered neighbors
has brought me tremendous comfort and joy during one of the most anxiety-riddled years
we’ve had in recent history. This makes me wonder, what else have I been missing simply
because I haven’t been paying attention? What joy am I missing? What beauty am I
overlooking? As I start to move back toward my “normal” overscheduled life, how can I
be mindful about holding space to pay attention to the subtle and not so subtle
miracles of God?
Blessings,
Jenn Oberto