A Guide to Not Letting Others Get Under Your Feathers.
Let’s cut right to it, shall we? Maintaining your internal peace and quiet is very challenging when your closest neighbor is essentially a horn blaring in the fog with the wingspan of an airplane.
I am Whimsel, a Barred Owl of some discernment; I’m an aficionado of quality voles and I believe that afternoon’s were created for napping. I have lived a peaceful life for several seasons now, with the Great Horned Owl as my neighbor. I’ll refer to him as G.H. for the remainder of this post because the longer name gives him too much recognition.
G.H. is larger and louder than I am. And he has these ear tufts that always appear to be displeased by the world; he looks as if the entire forest has disappointed him on a very personal level. As a young owl, I would see him flying through the moonlight and become annoyed by his noise.
“Does he have to announce himself?” I’d say to the lichen. “Has subtlety disappeared?”
I believed that G.H.’s purpose was to disrupt my carefully crafted nighttime atmosphere. Plainly, he was doing this to me.
However, during one of the evenings mid-hoots, neck fluffing, patience at its thinnest – I experienced an epiphany that was so simple that it almost made me fall off of my branch: G.H. is not disrupting my nights on purpose. He is simply being a Great Horned Owl.
Not About Me – It’s Biology
When I stopped translating G.H.’s boisterous calls into my self-worth and began to recognize them as natural instinct covered in feathers, something incredible occurred. I relaxed. My feathers lay flat again. The forest appeared less noisy, although G.H. was still as loud as he has always been.
He is not aggressive because he is mean-spirited. He is assertive because that is what he does. When he flies low, he is not thinking about how I might be feeling emotionally. He is thinking about what he is going to eat. And honestly, how many of us haven’t acted a little bit irrationally when we are hungry?
Realizing that another creature’s actions are not a referendum on our worth brings great freedom.
After all, there is a fine art of being hated.
I’ve kept this truth hidden beneath my wing for quite awhile now; not every living thing in the forest will like me.
The blue jays shout out allegations the moment I even stretch. The squirrels are certain that I am planning something (and I usually am). And G.H.? I suspect he views me as a whiny twig dweller with a ridiculously excessive appreciation for moonlit contemplation.
That’s entirely fine.
G.H.’s approval to take enjoyment from the cool night air is not needed. I do not need to receive an ovation for my rendition of “Who Cooks For You”. We live in the same sky but we have no obligation to occupy the same space mentally.
A Daily Reminder
So when the moon reaches its peak above the hemlock tree and G.H. starts making his nightly declarations, I take a deep breath.
And then I turn my head—almost completely around because I can; and continue on my own path.
The forest is vast. Life is short. And I have no intention of wasting time waiting for someone else to grow new feathers.
