I didn’t rescue the bird

I just turned the light on

One of my favorite parts of the early morning is its silence. 

When my alarm goes off around 5 and I come into the kitchen, I can hear the distant whoosh of the kid’s sound machines and the ongoing buzz of our refrigerator, but that’s about it. 

No cars drive by. No critters scamper across the roof. No sirens in the distance or dogs barking at one other. Many days it’s so early, the birds aren’t even awake.

Once I feed the dog and begin boiling hot water for tea, I grab my journal, a deck of affirmation cards, and my headphones, and make a cozy nest on the floor where I will do a breathwork session. Before I begin, I take a moment to write out an intention, either letting the deck decide for me or composing something I need to work on. 

I record how I’m feeling in my body, brain, mind, heart and soul. It’s like a daily temperature check.

I’ve been faced with the Sisyphean task of advocating for someone I care deeply about within a bigger system that is not built for them. It’s daunting and I had a big meeting that day, which I was quite nervous for. 

Old Sarah would have gone in guns blazing, foul mouthed, black liner cat-eyed at the corners, and a Marlboro Medium cigarette hanging loosely from her fingers.

Or my more recent approach to conflict (which is in direct contradiction with that earlier phase) is to avoid confrontation altogether and just hope that deleting or blocking or talking around the issue would solve it.

I’m trying to do things differently. Especially this.

This will not be a one and done kind of situation. I envision this to be a nearly two-decades long marathon and I need to learn now (or more kindly, “practice” now) how to stand up for those I love without making the person or organization across the table the enemy du jour.

I popped in my airpods and randomly picked a playlist which I set to shuffle. I believe that everything that happens during this veilless time–every card pulled, every song that comes on, every ache in my body, or memory that arises–is symbolic and meaningful.

So it was exciting to pick the card: “I Am Powerful: I Serve From a Place of Personal Power” given the impending events of the day.

After I recorded the words in my own handwriting and spent a few minutes checking on my baseline state (anxious, heavy) I pulled the fuzzy, grey Crate & Barrel blanket over my body, lied down, closed my eyes and began to breathe. 

The first song that came on was instrumental, mostly piano. It was soothing and softening which felt necessary. 

But the next song was very different. 

It was tinny, electronic, there were weird pinging sounds. My breathwork teachers always encourage us not to change the uncomfortable moment but instead to use it as part of our session, so I allowed the song to play.

Then I kept hearing what sounded like rustling, clicking, and an off beat tweet. I paused the song and that’s when I realized that these sounds were not coming through my headphones. They were happening in front of my home. 

I jumped up and ran to the front door. We have a large glass door with children’s fingerprints all over its lower half. The lights were off outside and our dog, Tucker, was lying there patiently waiting for me to let him in.  He is senile and can barely see or hear and he didn’t notice the little bird frantically flying above him. It was flying into the glass of the front door over and over. 

Photo by Jacques LE HENAFF on Unsplash

I was afraid to open the door. Do I need to get a broom? A towel? A box? And shush it away?

Or should I just leave it and go back to my safe nest praying it would find it’s way back to its own?

Instead, a softer and braver part of me whispered, “Turn on the light. It will guide him in the right direction.”

So that’s what I did. I turned the light on and he flew out of the courtyard and on his way. 

I let the dog back in and climbed back under the blanket to resume my session.

As I reflected afterwards, I realized that this is exactly what I’m being tasked to do with the person I love.

Just as it would not have served that bird, and may have even harmed it, if I had tried to physically move it, I might harm my loved one by trying to strong-arm the response or outcome that I feel is best. 

I have no idea what is best.

Similarly, I can’t run away and avoid. There is suffering happening and I do have a responsibility to do something.

The most helpful thing I can do is to simply turn on a light and let them figure out the path they need to go. I can be a guide, but they are the ones who must choose their direction.

Just like the little bird.