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I don’t know why I never realized that birds have to learn to fly1. It makes sense: like many things in life that have an element of instinct, there’s also an element of learning -which (of course) includes failing. But, for some reason, I’d always imagined that birds got right to it, that as soon as their feathers got strong enough, they’d nonchalantly step over the edge with the grace of flight (already in their wings), soaring the air like they’d always been flying.
But, no. Apparently it’s quite common for birds to flop their first jump, to free-fall and thump, bumping branches along the way like a deflated bouncy ball with wannabe wings.
Boy, can I relate: all fluffed up and brave, confident and sure that I’m ready, faithful to the instinct within me that says “You’re made for this, baby.” And then-
Splat.
Spread-eagle in all the wrong ways.
Head-dive-turned-belly-flop straight into the ground (that couldn’t be more unlike the air that I’m meant to soar around).
It’s a wonder that they ever get back up, and that they ever try again -I mean, why would they? Falling freaking hurts, not just the bones and the feathers, but the pride -I’m a bird for heaven’s sake! I’m meant to master the sky!
But they do. They do jump again. And, most of the time, again they fall.
It reminds me of me of a sweet little toddler named Luna who stole my heart. Walking well before her first birthday, Luna was itching to be upright before she even learned to crawl. But, she was diligent, joyful even, as she merged her instinct with her will to walk. First she stood up, and then she flopped. Then up, and flop. Then up, and flop. And up and flop and up and flop until she could stand long enough to take a few steps, and flop again. She’d go at it with the kind of focus that would impress even the greatest of Olympians.
But what impressed me the most, was the joy that Luna took in it. She wasn’t discouraged from her falls. They didn’t seem to bother her at all. So, now, at 15 months, not only can Luna walk, but she can dance too! Turn on any song and she immediately gets in the groove, swaying and bouncing to every single tune.
Even so, apparently she’s not always a ray of sunshine in the process. Recently I got a report that she’s been trying to climb a very tall chair, and has gotten frustrated with the fact that’s she’s still not made it up there. But, despite the tears, Luna keeps at it, which makes me confident that soon she’ll perch up there, like a baby bird who finally landed from the air.
That’s how it goes, I guess: as soon you as you master taking off, then there’s the task of learning to soar. Then, there’s the challenge of taking tight turns, and then, of course, there’s finessing a smooth landing (which, apparently, also takes practice); it seems like there’s always something to give us new bruises.
I haven’t always been up for it. I tended to think that whatever I didn’t do well right way just wasn’t my destiny -which isn’t always a bad way to see things. Something does feel true about nurturing what comes most naturally to you while letting go of what feels too hard to do. Nothing in life can do it all by itself; worms can turn rotten food into soil, but they can’t purify the air. Trees can purify the air, but they can’t cross-pollinate flowers. Bees can pollinate flowers, but they can’t cycle the water. Clouds can cycle the water, but they can’t feed the critters. Though it wasn’t actually Einstein who said that “Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it’ll live its whole life believing that it’s stupid,” the allegory maintains its message.
Still, I come from a culture that prides itself on independence; that expects the best of us to be the best at all of it. It’s no wonder I’ve spent my life feeling irreparably inadequate.
Even so, there are those trees who’ve become self-pollinating2, those fish who’ve grown wings3, those birds who take to swimming. Sure we’ve all got limits, but we’re also evolving past them4 -most of the time through the toughest of trials, the do-or-die kind of challenges that birth life’s miracles.
So, I’ve staggered through life tripping on the moving line between the myth and magic of independence and the utter vulnerability of reliance. Knowing when to push and when to quit, when to strike out on my own, and when to have patience for togetherness, is not always obvious.
In any case, there is endurance, every single day, to meet our failures with determination and grace, to remember that every fall can teach us to fly, like baby birds who come to master the sky.
It’s been a helpful reminder as I’ve been pushing my own limits as of late, to move beyond walking, to climb to higher states,
as the world is pushed past its limits, beyond what we ever imagined, to hold on to hope when our hearts are harrowed, to dig deep for resilience.
I know I’m the only one who’s felt frustrated, to say the least. Every day I walk the razor’s edge between despair and peace. No doubt I’ve wanted to give up (more than I like to admit) convinced that I’m not cut out for it, tired and hungry to quit.
But, every time I think to throw in the towel, I imagine Luna’s beaming smile as she’d crash and stand again. I think of falling fledglings, committed to cruising the wind.
Listen to the Song “Luna’s Fledgling Flight”
More Songs & Stories of Nature’s Heart & Hope
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https://birdfact.com/articles/how-do-birds-learn-to-fly#:~:text=Birds
https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/home_garden/some-fruit-trees-require-a-pollinator-and-some-dont/article_0753476c-aeea-11ed-b46f-df1a7a874737.html#
https://kids.britannica.com/students/article/flying-fish/274363
https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC1564094/#:~:text=A%20stress%2Dinduced%20increase%20of,novel%20adaptations%20to%20changed%20environments.
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