“They really have an amazing system!” my client Maria replied after I told her the story of watching a nest of baby birds over the weekend. Really though, think about this, it is pretty amazing. The eggs are laid, in a home that was meticulously built, thread by stick by little cotton fuzz that fell off of your sweater last week. It’s location and proportions are perfect, required for survival. The babies are born at a time of year that they won’t freeze their tiny butts to death. And Mom and Dad work to make sure they are fed. Enough so that when the day comes, they will gather their strength and courage (I wonder if they are afraid?) and with a bit of a nudge, will literally leap themselves out of the house, into an unknown fate. And fly. We hope.
Mom and Dad know what to do. The instinct is a strong, perfect, unshakable miracle of nature. Perfect, amazing nature. Do some babies leap and crash to their death? I am sure it happens. But my guess is that 95% of the time, these babies fly with the very first stretch and pump of their virgin wings. Those worms and bugs must have been superfood for sure. The instinct then, already there, guides that new flying miracle to do whatever it is birds do, to survive, and thrive, and create more beautiful little birdy miracles.
I love this. I can’t get over it really. If I hadn’t needed to eat or pee, or pay attention to anything else, I would have parked my butt in a chair on the deck 24/7 for those three days, and watched the show non-stop. Mom and Dad going out to find superfood and bringing it back to the wide open mouths, eyes still closed, knowing little creatures that waited for their promised sustenance. How do they know what to do? They don’t get to read “Parenting 101.” They don’t really even have a role model, their parents kicked them out and never saw them again. What is that instinct? It is a cellular memory? Is it God’s spirit?
I don’t think there is such thing as a bad bird parent. No abuse, physical or emotional. No lack. No psychological baggage to be healed. Nothing but an instinct of duty, to care and nurture, until the strength exists to fly, and be free.
I want to add the word love here, but struggle to make it fit. An instinct of duty to care and nurture. An instinct to know when it is time for your baby to fly. And an instinct to help them out of the nest, never to be seen again, and then go about your life, repeating that cycle…is there love there, in nature?
If you have seen the recent YouTube video about the lonely goat and burro, then you would say yes. Yes there is love. Or something. Some attachment or companionship, or something, in nature and animals. Are birds the same? No doubt there is instinct in nature, but is there love? This amazing system they have…does it include love? That thing that binds and bonds and aches us to the core sometimes.
When we take care of our human babies, in a good and loving way, how much do we rely on instinct? I remember reaching for “Parenting 101.” I remember thinking that I had no clue. That nothing was coming naturally. Except for the love. That was instant, instinctual, and unavoidable. God, that ache in the center of my chest the very second that tiny naked being was placed on my chest. I don’t know if that ache has ever gone away. Sounds terrible, but it is good. It is what makes me build my meticulous nest, in a perfect location and size, and find super food, and do those things until my babies are strong. But my babies will need more than wing strength to fly. And here is where the instincts are nowhere to be found. How, oh how, do I give them confidence, and self esteem, kindness and discipline. They will need courage, and curiosity, and inspiration. They will need to figure shit out. For themselves. They will need their intuition and when they find it, they will need to trust it. I have no instincts about how to teach this stuff.
I rely on love. Being the best role model, of all of these things, whether the stuff of life is easy or hard, whether I do it right, or make mistakes, is a nice goal. Being the change. Because I can’t give it to them like a present they unwrap and own. I can be it though. I can hope they are paying attention. And I can smother them with so much love they have to push me away a little, before I let go, nudge them off the edge, close my eyes, and hope they fly.
I have to trust their wings. I have to trust this amazing system of love. I have to feel the ache in my chest, deep to my core, and realize that letting go will be another act of love. Allowing them to discover their strengths, and find their own life, and navigate it with the wings I have fed. That will be love, not instinct. Because if I listen to the other voice inside of me, the clingy, control freak, I will have 40 year olds living at home. No nest is big enough for that.
Until the day they fly, there is feeding to be done. I will listen for the direction of my instinctual (maybe) duty to care and nurture, and love, and step away when smothering them only keeps them weak. I will keep a good nest, in a good location. I will show up every day with the superfood of love, and a little organic broccoli.
One day I will let go.
Please, friends, come visit me on that day with a really good bottle of wine, and some dark chocolate, superfood for sure, and let’s sit together and ache. And be proud of our amazing system. We did our best. We helped build those amazing wings. Yes, there is love in nature, as there is love in us, and that is the strongest instinct of all, whether the duties of building and feeding are done right or not. Whether or not we know how, we do know what to do. Instinct or not, we can figure that shit out. I know we can figure love out.
And they will fly. (Thanks Mom)
