Puffins

Bravery be written within these bones

Oh grant me the courage or send me home

The choice is before me, mistakes are unknown

Oh grant me the courage or send me home

Though only 1:35, the Show Ponies’ “Bravery Be Written” could speak to a lot of adult life, I think.

To speak a very plain, self obvious truth—we are constantly faced with myriad choices, myriad tasks. Tasks to make life go “smoother,” tasks to make the mundane “easier.” Tasks to make our neighbours like us. Tasks to make us like us. 

Tasks to survive.

Barreling through the must’s and should’s, it’s easy to become cynical and armoured, even as our fears continue to metastasize and grow. We (I) can simultaneously grasp onto what I have, even if it’s not “right” (healthy, sustainable, responsible, etc.), while also terrified of its disappearance. Lacking the courage to step forward, lacking the trust to continue, we wilt into obscurity.

Sometimes. (Often.)

… because we don’t have to, necessarily.

It only takes a little (a lot) of self-aware, self-conscious intention.

Just a little (a lot) of uncomfortable, itchy, loooooong growth.

And a little (a lot) of bravery.

… gross. 

#adulting, indeed.

Still, getting so trapped in our own mind games does appear a uniquely human trait… because Puffins don’t play like that.

Yes, Puffins.

After a nesting season of only four months, puffins leave shore for open waters for the remainder of the year, leaving behind both their young and their mate. The young, they trust, will follow the moon to their food. Their mates? Well, there are no cell phones or Zoom… come the following year, after a solid eight months of facing storms, sunshine, and challenges alone, they trust that they will come back to the same island, the same rock, and miraculously find their (same) mate. 

The juxtaposition struck me strongly last week, examining these minuscule, seasonally-orange beaked birds. I could remember so strongly when I was an afro’d Oompa Loompa myself, cast upon the shores of DISASTER when my best friend couldn’t stay and play; unsurprisingly, it was also a similar scene of devastation whenever I had to part ways with a beloved object (pull-ups, Baboo, chocolate pudding…) or teacher (Mrs. McCormick). 

Truth be told, this strong, adverse reaction was true of most change. So. Many. Tears.

In retrospect, I have a strong, sneaking suspicion that both myself and my peers would like to collectively shove this phase to the forgotten realms of the past, relegating this behaviour strictly to childhood. However, I have to admit—how stricken was I when that “special something” didn’t work out? When the “right person, wrong timing” disappeared into the horizon? 

… somehow, the faith of the Puffins was lacking. 

Though not really a panacea to all the sharp-edged drama of heartbreak, Veronica Shofstall’s “After a While” offers a useful perspective: 

After a while… 

you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child

(Or the grace of a pelagic seabird.) (Same same.)

What it takes only four years for puffins to learn, however, seems to take a lot longer for us higher-brained mammals… because trust is a fickle, scary monster, indeed. 

But what if it wasn’t?

What if trust wasn’t the monster that required full-fledged, full-hearted bravery and courage? What if it wasn’t St. George’s dragon, waiting for an epic finale?

What if it was just a series of small, quiet decisions?

The ones where we believe ourselves?

The ones where we believe in time?

The ones where we choose breath over panic, sleep over urgency?

Bravery be written within these bones… grant me the courage or send me home

Bravery can look dramatic, like dragons and monsters and chimeras. 

Or it can look quiet, like Puffins.

Trusting in themselves.

Trusting in their instincts. 

Trusting time would prove them right, even though storms and distance and logic suggest otherwise.

I give no promises that I’ll get improve. No oaths, no vows that I’ll get better at saying goodbye, that I won’t lose my head.

Because somehow, yanno… I don’t think I need to.

Because I might not be the provincial bird of Newfoundland… but, after a while

I can already see the difference.

Even when it’s scary.

Even when it’s hard, and frustrating, and lonely.

(And, dammit, even when I really just want my chocolate pudding.)

The choices are before me, and the mistakes are still unknown… but at least I still have myself.

And that confidence means everything. 

The right ones will stay. The others? Eh.

They’ll find their own way,

too.

they’ll find their own way, own path #zen…. but WITHOUT BON! (aka, the real tragedy)