When I went out for a run this morning it was the result of an internal debate of how best to use my time, and whether a short run now was better than gambling on whether I’d make it out for a longer run in the evening or end up not running at all. A few short blocks in I was still debating the decision I’d already made. I was still questioning if this was the best use of my time, how much work I could get done if I were in the office already, or what yardwork I could accomplish if I’d stayed with that task longer, as well as planning out my day and thinking of all the tasks I was apparently afraid I’d forget to do if I didn’t keep them running constantly through my head.
I realized that I wasn’t being very mindful (being a hypocrite therapist again) and that I was stressing myself out during this activity that is supposed to be my self-care. So, I started thinking about my run. This short little run that in years past I couldn’t be bothered to put my running shoes on for. As I thought about running I judged my running: how much further in my training I should be, how much faster and lighter I should be, all of these useless things keeping me from enjoying myself. I made conscious effort to turn my focus to the park I was running in. I’d already reached my turn around point to head back toward the exit, my body mostly running for me while I thought about stress rather than enjoying this beautiful day. Realizing that I was focusing on admonishing myself for not focusing on my surroundings, rather than focusing on my surroundings, I shifted my focus outward. I looked at the trees, many of them bright with blossoms, the grass (more dandelions than my lawn, yay!), and the birds. I see a small, bright yellow bird fly briefly up to a small tree before flying away. Other thoughts are present in my head too, but I choose to follow the thought of the bird and wonder if it or one like it will come to my feeder at home. I wonder if it eats the type of seed we have in our feeder, and plan to look it up in the book at home. I’ll tell my wife about it and share the joy of seeing it.
My wife and I received a bird book a few Christmases ago and we started using the book to identify the birds that came to our bird feeder. We found that learning about the birds, looking them up as we saw them and marking down the birds that we’d seen became rather exciting. We’d tell each other when we spotted a type of bird that had not visited our feeder before, although some probably had before we kept track and knew their names. Over the winter the birds diminished and became less diverse. Filling the feeder became a chore and an expense that we bothered with less and less. This Spring I’ve filled the bird feeder back up, but we have not opened the book. We’ve primarily enjoyed watching our new cats reacting to the birds visiting the feeder. They stare out the window at them and pointlessly stalk them. We’ve talked about it, but have yet to restart the habit of looking up the birds we see and marking each as we see them. The birds have returned to just being “birds” again, rather than sparrows, nuthatches, and chickadees.
I was happier and more focused on my surroundings after seeing that yellow bird. At this point I was enjoying my run (I always eventually do). The weather was nice. Flowers and flowering trees were in bloom and I had warmed up and was feeling more relaxed and stress free than in the past two days (since my last run). I ran through the park gates and crossed the road to turn toward home. That’s when I encountered the first dead cardinal in the road. It was a bright red male lying half on his side, his ruffled feathers moving gently with the breeze. He was in the road near the curb. Dead, but nearly as bright and beautiful as ever, making it feel just a little bit sadder to see. My continued stride carried me forward to see a second dead cardinal just a few feet beyond the first. Another bright red male, I start to imagine they were friends. They were standing near the curb, safely out of traffic until one car drifted over to turn onto the side street, driving right over them. More likely they stirred and tried to fly away but could not get out of reach and were hit by the grill or the windshield and killed.
It’s sad. It doesn’t really affect my life in any way. I likely wouldn’t have even consciously noticed them if I hadn’t been so tuned into my surroundings at the time, especially to birds, after I saw the yellow one. The yellow bird made me happy and finally put me into the positive mood that I was seeking. Now this sad view of the two dead cardinals was in my mind and I realized how our days often work like that. We can fail to notice the bright spots, move on and forget them, and even have them “ruined” when something later goes wrong. In fact, we can get angry about something bad ruining a good day and be even more upset than if we’d just been sad or ho-hum to begin with. I can still choose to remember and focus on the pretty yellow bird. I can follow through on my plan to look him up in the book and share this little joy with my wife, hopefully passing it on. If I wasn’t writing this blog she probably would never even hear about the dead birds I saw on my run. For that matter, I may have forgotten the yellow bird by then too if I hadn’t revisited the memory later.
I did look up the bird when I got home. I think it was an American Goldfinch. They apparently eat seeds and insects and will visit feeders. Hopefully he will visit ours soon.







