How might life be inviting me to leave my “nest” and fly?

This question prompts me to share a story I wrote many years ago when I was living in the deep south. I hope you will have time to read it.

Learning to Fly: The wisdom of the Doves
Birds don’t give advice. They don’t judge but if you take time to truly observe them as they go about their daily lives, they can be great teachers.

It was early one morning over three years ago as I engaged in my morning ritual of opening the Roman shade in my living room that I saw a pair of Mourning Doves diligently preparing a nest in a hanging basket located on my front porch. As I watched, they were gathering twigs and depositing them on top of the thyme seeds I had just planted in that planter a few days ago. It was fun to see this nest building exercise up close and sharing my dwelling with the doves really appealed to me. I could always plant some thyme seeds somewhere else.

I didn’t know much about Morning Doves so I did some research and discovered that they mate for life and the Mama Dove lays two eggs at a time. In the course of one breeding season she could lay a total of 12 eggs so I would have a good chance of seeing some baby birds up close. Observing them became part of my morning ritual.

In the three years they’ve nested on my front porch, I’ve only seen one egg fail to hatch They’ve gotten so used to me being around that I can walk right up to their nest and Mama just looks at me as if to say, “See my little ones. Aren’t they cute?”

During the nesting process, it has always been Papa going to get the groceries to feed Mama as she patiently waited for the birthing to begin. There wasn’t room for Papa to actually join her in the nest. He just kept guard on the neighbor’s roof each day. As I awaited for the arrival of the little ones. I had no idea where he spent his nights.

I definitely became a bird watcher and I could always tell when the eggs had hatched because Mama and Papa would both fly off and leave the babies alone while they gathered food to feed them.

It is fun to observe the newborns. They start out with little bald heads perched on patches of grayish brown fuzzy bodies. Gradually all that fuzz turned into sturdy feathers. At the point where they actually look like birds, Mama and Papa would leave them alone for much longer periods but Mama always returned to feed them bill to bill.

I always hoped that I would be lucky enough to be around when the babies took flight. I wondered if that involved trial runs or some kind of lessons from mom and dad. I knew that when they first tried to fly, they did not get far because I had seen the babies hopping around behind the Azalea bushes in flower bed next to my porch and I had witnessed their parents still bringing them food. I so wanted to be present to witness the day when they would confidently soar through the air to begin their own lives.

It was in the fall of the third breeding season and Mama was caring for her last set of babies. I was checking the nest each morning when I discovered that she was gone and only one of her two babies was in the nest. Throughout that day, I kept checking the nest. Was she going to come back? Why was the one baby still there? Might it have a damaged wing? If it was injured, would she just abandon it?

It was during the afternoon of the next day that I spotted her in the driveway in front of the house. I stood in the living room window to see if she would fly into the nest. Her baby was frantically waving its wings, trying to get her attention. She seemed indifferent to its pleading call.

As I watched I noticed how every few minutes, she marched closer to the front porch, making sure she was still in the baby’s view. She would stop and look up at her little one who by this time was continuously jumping up on the edge of the planter, teetering then falling back into the nest.

Again and again, Mama moved closer and closer always staying where the baby could see her. Finally, in what seemed like desperation, she strutted on to the porch and positioned herself under the hanging basket and began calling to her frightened youngster. The baby bird could no longer see her and I realized that this was by design. Mama wanted it that way. She wanted her little one trying so hard to see her that it would have to spread its wings and fly.

The baby bird kept jumping up on the edge of the planter in an attempt to get a glimpse of his Mama. Its body would sway precariously. Mama didn’t budge. She purposely stayed directly under the nest knowing that to see her, the youngster would have to exit the nest. S/He would have to fly.

And finally it happened. There was no soaring. There was just a frantic fluttering of wings that brought the baby bird down to the porch floor. I’m thinking to myself. Is Mama Dove sighing? Then I saw her lock eyes with her little one as if to say, “Follow me.” Then she led the youngster into the Azalea bushes.

Why I wondered did Mama Dove find it important to get the baby to flutter down to the ground and I do mean flutter because it was apparent that the bird could not yet actually fly. Wouldn’t it have been safer to have the baby bird stay in the nest until it could fly? After all, my Azaleas offered some protection but not much safety from the cats in the neighborhood.

I was, however, truly in awe as I thought about how Mama Dove had handled her little one’s fear. I thought of all the times fear had kept me safe in my familiar nest. The nest might have no longer been the best place for me but it was familiar and it made me feel safe.

Change has always frightened me and I always shake in my boots when dealing with it. My need to control my environment usually rules. I understand the childhood bullying planted a fear of failure and rejection deep in my physical, mental and emotional bones. No matter how much I grow, no matter how many times I experience success, my ability to commit to anything that involves performance leaves me just like that little bird. I find myself shaking in my boots. But watching that Mama literally bait her little one into spreading its wings and fluttering, not flying, through mid-air is an image I can’t get out of my head. It reminds me of all that I missed in my long life, of all the times when I declined opportunities to see, know, and do interesting things out of the fear of rejection, out of the fear of disappointing myself and others.

Today, the gift of a long life and many challenging experiences has taught me that my job is willingness and it is the key to transforming fear into love. I may not always soar but I am grateful to know that I’ve always been able to fly. Even if like the baby dove, I’m shaking in my boots.