I did a brave thing. I let vulnerability happen and shared my feelings. In the end, I felt empowered, heard, and loved. Bravery has not been kind to me in past relationships, unfortunately. This time, this experience, gave me hope beyond all expectations. This is freedom. This is love.
The next day, I unlocked my front door, looked down next to the porch behind the bush, as I have done each day for almost 6 years, and I saw a bird. Not a real live bird, but a figurine of some sort. I reached down to get a closer look and picked it up. It was pressed into the dirt and leaves a bit. I took it inside to wash off the dirt. Its beak was broken and the base looked as though it had been attached to something else somewhere along its journey.
Where did it come from? Why was it there? How long had it been there? Why had I not seen it before? What the fuck does it mean? Is it a sign? A sign for what?
So, I’ve been thinking about what birds mean to me. When I interview someone for work, I always ask the question: If you could be an animal for a day, what animal would it be and why? I have found that the answer to this questions solidifies my character assessment of the person. This is not scientific or Human Resources approved, but it is important to me to hear the answer. When I answer this question for myself, the answer is: bird. For me, the bird is free to fly and sing, rest when needed and can observe all that is going on below. I have spent a few days spent on thinking way too much about concrete bird statues and recall that several months ago I had shared this interview tool story with the man I love. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t mock me as others have, but he said, “What kind of bird?” I paused and thought about his question. I replied, “No one has ever asked me that question. I honestly don’t know.” What kind of bird am I? No one on this planet has wanted to know what kind of bird I am, but he does.
Birds symbolize hope, freedom, liberation. Did I only see the bird when I was feeling hopeful and free? Did the last layer of dirt and leaves finally blow away to liberate this bird that had been under cover for so long? Am I this bird? Am I this bird, who is a little broken, but found its way out of the muck and darkness to glorious freedom, love, and a prime spot on my mantle?
I don’t know if the bird is a sign or just a bird. I do know I have felt at peace while marinating about birds and the meaning of life these past several days. I am worn and a little broken. Also, I am free and I am loved.