A Phoenix in Charlotte

Until this past February, I had never lived alone in my 32 years on this planet.  I went from living with my parents to a dorm with a roommate to living with friends to the now-defunct marriage.  Being by myself wasn’t even part of my life.

It was a rough adjustment.  I hated being by myself in the mornings and evenings.  A social creature and entertainer in my adulthood, I just didn’t find any value or entertainment in solitude.  Some of it was originally attributable to suddenly being by myself in a house I bought with my then-future-ex-wife.  It was painful and miserable to have to wake up and come home to what I then viewed as an epicenter of failure.  I avoided it as much as possible, and numbed myself when not.

I figured I’d adjust to being alone better once I got out of Blacksburg and out of that house.  But it didn’t work immediately, as I still found myself uncomfortable being alone in my new townhouse here in Charlotte, even with Laney.

In comes help in the form of Mr. Coffee.  I bought a coffee machine a couple of weeks ago so I can wake up earlier.  I have started a routine where I walk Laney first thing in the morning with mug in hand.  I find a spot for her to walk around, and I stand there and finish the coffee.  This standing around, instead of marching her to and fro hurriedly before heading back inside, has surprisingly given birth to some moments of quiet contemplation.  It’s proven rewarding to me and has shown me the benefits of some alone time.  Instead of rushing to get all of my morning tasks done so I can get to where more people are as quickly as possible, I get a lot of reflecting done in just a small amount of downtime.

This morning’s contemplation was inspired by an encounter with nature.  Yesterday at lunch, I was walking Laney by a creek next to my townhouse, and I saw a Great Blue Heron fishing away.  He let me take some pictures of him from pretty close range:

I wondered where his nest might be, if he is indeed a new resident.  I saw a trail of droppings leading directly from where he had been fishing.  I extrapolated the line segment and can see a large nest I suspect might belong to my new feathered neighbor.  The lofty abode featured a great view of his food source.

That got me thinking this morning, as I passed by the same point with mug in hand and mutt in tow, about why I enjoy learning about nature, especially animals, so much.  You see, I never really grew out of the ‘why’ phase of childhood.  (Some would say I never grew out of childhood at all, but that is better saved for another day and another conversation with someone with multiple degrees on their wall.)

I have an insatiable desire to understand the reasoning behind the way things are.  If I am unable to learn or reason something out, I tend to either reject or pass on the subject all together.  A good example of this is religion.  I describe myself as an agnostic in the spirit of open-mindedness.  I can’t subscribe to a religion at this point, because there aren’t enough answers to all of my ‘why’s.  I still shudder when I think about my curiosity being stomped on in Sunday School as a kid.  Religion to me is man’s attempt to fill the void of what we have not yet reasoned out or solved.

(Just a quick note: This does not mean that I think people who have found religion are necessaily ‘wrong’.  It means no religion has found me, and so I am left to my own devices and logic to form my views.)

But with nature, everything has an answer.  Many of these answers are self-evident if you think about them long enough.  Why are some animals brightly colored?  Probably either to attract a mate, or to as a self-defense to warn predators of danger.  Why do some birds have long, sharp beaks?  To penetrate wood or stab into water for food.  Why does your dog misbehave?  Because you aren’t acting like a good pack leader with consistent authority and even demeanor.  Even if you don’t figure out something by yourself and you have to look it up, you’ll probably find that something exists — and evolved that way — for a perfectly logical reason.

Anyway, this contemplation time, and the fruit it bears, are my first positive experiences with being alone.  I still crave human interaction in the evenings, but at least now I see can adapt.  And if the Heron has indeed set up camp near me, I will name him and establish contact.  Dances With Birds.  No, not really.