Love Bites: Birds of a Feather

I wasn’t looking for a connection when it happened. If anything, I was actively avoiding them. I had become a hermit when it came to meeting new people – choosing instead to knit my close friends closer – when that heart-jumping, bone-humming excitement hit me. The first time was a heron; the second time, a bullfinch.

I have been sent many memes about your 30s coming at you fast and how one day you wake up and suddenly really give a shit about birds. I never thought it would be me, but then, one day, I woke up and really gave a shit about birds. When that beak pecks at your door, I advise you to open it. 

I think intimacy is when someone shows you who they are and you actually see it. I had surely been in the presence of these birds before, as I do the same tree-lined canal path every day, but now I was actually seeing them – in all their feathered hues, in all their swooping glory. Who knew you could become better at looking and paying proper attention when you take up a binocular-lensed hobby? That joining a birdwatching group could do more for your self-esteem than downloading Hinge ever could?

I understood that I needed refuge to really consider myself and the world around me. I needed to relearn my relationship with intimacy without another person seeing me looking. Love can be a joy or a thrill, but it’s always best when it’s a comfort. Sometimes, what you really need to find love again isn't meeting eyes with a stranger across the bar; sometimes, it’s as simple as finding a safe place for your heart to nest.