I have two questions for you: 1) What age do you consider yourself old? and 2) Is birdwatching factored into your answer?
I ask because I work on a team with three other women, are all in their 30s. Millennials. I’m in my late 50s. Sometimes I can’t remember exactly how old I am, so I just throw something out there and hope it’s pretty accurate. What I do know is that I’m Gen X. So, there’s a gap there.
Earlier this week I was in a group chat with two of them, Natalie and Hester. We were talking work stuff when out of the blue, Natalie goes, “Y’all want to know how I’ve reached middle age?”
Well, of course we do! Although she just turned 30 and just recently left the baby grown-up years behind her. But nonetheless, she says, “I have started bird watching… LOL. I’ve had two little robins come see me in the mornings and then Zane and I started having this convo about robin’s eggs and how the Tiffany blue was inspired by their eggs!!”
I am in LOVE with the knowledge about the Tiffany blue, which is one of my favorite colors (please note the color scheme of my blog, here). And before I can even respond, Hester jumps in with, “Honestly, we are the same.”
Naturally, I think she is going to talk about Tiffany’s and turquoise, and seafoam blue … but no. What follows is a bunch of pictures that Natalie had saved on her camera roll of said robins. And screenshots about their eggs and lifestyles. And then a full-on bird conversation ensues between the two of them.
Which turns into another story about how Hester’s neighborhood has a tomcat that roams about, terrorizing the ‘hood. She actually watched it chase a bunny down the street AND CATCH IT … “and that was definitely it’s dinner. Circle of life, man. It was crazy. Also, a smidge traumatic.”
I had nothing to offer the conversation at this point, although I do like to listen to the sound of doves cooing in the morning. But up until a few months ago, I thought I was hearing an owl and I’m not sure I even know what a dove looks like … so I mentioned the cooing, but otherwise just kept quiet.
The conversation continued on to finches and hummingbirds, complete with pictures. And then they laughed that they are better at being a 57-year-old than I am. I would have to agree. I do not know my birds.
I read once that when men turn 30, they have to choose between becoming a Civil War expert or a master at smoking meat. So far, all three of the young men in our family have followed in their father’s footsteps and proudly own a smoker. Conversations abound with talk about wrapping, resting, temperatures, timing, rubs … you name it. We were at a friend’s house last weekend and he had no less than SEVEN smokers and/or grills. And if that’s not enough, he is in the process of building one so big that it is being built ON a trailer because he doesn’t think he will be able to move it after it is done.
But that’s not really universal, like bird watching seems to be. I think knitting might be the woman’s version of war/meat, but so far, I haven’t wanted to do that, either.
Hester’s comment about the circle of life, though … that one stuck with me. And it got me thinking. Not in a “well that escalated quickly” kind of way… but in a quiet, sneaky way that sort of taps you on the shoulder when you’re not expecting it.
Because the truth is, I’ve always thought of myself as somewhere in the middle of things. Not young, not old… just living my life, raising Trixie, adding in Harley and the boys … just figuring things out as I go. But somewhere along the way—and I’m not entirely sure when it happened—that middle started to shift.
I’m not looking ahead the same way anymore. I’m looking back more. And I’m starting to realize that the stretch of life in front of me… isn’t quite as long as the stretch behind me. And if I’m being honest, I don’t love how fast that gap is closing.
Maybe that’s what birdwatching really is. Not getting old… but slowing down enough to notice things you didn’t before. The robins. The doves. The quiet in the morning. Enjoying a home-cooked meal made with love. The moments that used to rush by while you were busy doing life are now the very things that make it feel full. Maybe Natalie and Hester just got it earlier than I did.
I may not know my birds. But I’m starting to understand the seasons. And if this is the part where things slow down just enough to notice…then maybe I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
Even if I wouldn’t mind time taking its sweet, sweet time getting there.
Thanks for reading ~ Roxie 💙
Roxie Rides Again 