Returning to the Self

I've always had an affinity for the simple and common things that pass through my life: the squirrels who are summarily dismissed due to their numbers, the ox-eye daisy found in every field. Perhaps it is more in alignment to my own personality, that is to work behind the scenes not in the public eye.

It's not that I don't appreciate the unique, the rare. How excited I got the only time a red fox trotted through my yard; or the beautiful old skunk who lounged on my patio for one brief spring. My heart pounds when I think about the possibility of viewing a cougar seen in the area where I will soon be visiting. But in the end, it is the often seen, rarely appreciated animal that captures my soul and reminds me of who I am.

Every morning I hear the conversation of crows. Usually in pairs, they fly together cawing to alert the other of food or predator. Unlike most mornings, a memory created years ago popped into my head. It was in a small hotel room in Kyoto during my second visit to Japan. I was restless from jet lag and found it difficult to sleep on the narrow bed. Staring out the window, I heard the sound of crows cawing. In a country where hearing English is rare, the common language of the crow reminded me of home in a place far away.

Too often I chase after new hobbies and jobs, seeking new and exciting ways to recharge my life. I can accurately predict the moment when the shine fades off that new activity and I return once again to my usual routine. There is a lesson to be learned from the animals. Crows don't pretend to be anything other than crows. There is nothing wrong with experiencing new things, expanding my horizons so to speak. But is the chase for the new, the shiny, nothing more than an escape from being who I am? Maybe I'm a crow and that's just fine with me.