What We Can Learn from a Molted Feather

This morning I enjoyed a wonderful exercise in interpretation and projection. Having been an English major with a heavy concentration in Poetry, I tend to examine and dissect literature, visual art, nature, inanimate objects and interestingly random occurrences, finding meaning in Life’s, often overlooked, small details.

As I opened my apartment door to let my two cats, Quarterback (QB) and Sadie, out into the courtyard, I noticed this feather positioned exactly as pictured on the railing directly in front of my door. “How peculiar,” I thought. I immediately returned for my handy iPhone to capture the photo. Personally, I find the symmetry to be quite beautiful.

I then began to think about the bird that may have lost this feather and whether or not it was still alive and, if so, able to fly without it. Judging by the ash-gray color, I would guess it once belonged to a pigeon, but I’m no ornithologist. I then began to think of myself as a bird and what species I might be. Then came the self-pity. Don’t judge. We’re all allowed every now and then.

I have experienced enough rejection in my quarter century to now be able to handle rejection of all sorts very well. However, I also like to think of myself as a veritable wagon wheel, but with more important things to support than a payload of bruised ego. This doesn’t mean, though, that I simply forget. Numerous opportunities I’ve pursued, people I’ve been completely enamored with, and jobs I’ve applied for have all fed me, “you’re not this and you’re not that and you don’t have this and you don’t have that,” and so forth and so on. Disappointment and hurt are alive and well, but after my moment of pity, reflecting on the metaphorical feathers that I don’t have and feeling like a little brown emu, I realized that I needed to get over myself.

I chose to believe that my pigeon friend, wherever he may have been, was alive and well and I returned to reality. If you watch enough National Geographic and Animal Planet, you’ll know that molting is a natural occurrence in most animal species and, in the case of birds, where one feather is lost, another eventually takes its place leaving flight uninterrupted.

I am not an emu. In fact, I believe I have more in common with that obnoxiously resilient pigeon than I initially thought this morning. I may not have or may not be many things but, nevertheless, I am flying. Perhaps not gracefully, but flying is flying.  For the ability to keep my feet ever so slightly off the ground, I am grateful.

And, if you think about it, there’s really no place I can go but up.     

Share your stories with me at gratefulbrand@gmail.com. I would love to hear from you.