I’ve been trying to put a finger on the mish-mash of feelings I’ve been swimming with lately. The memoir is out, of course I’m elated. But I’m also uncertain, if not terrified at times. The world has gotten suddenly noisy, but I’m often lonely. When I talk to media who have read the book I feel isolated between who I am and who they think I am, or perhaps want me to be. After all, the book is theirs now and not mine …and I am the book. If I did my job well, they will find themselves in there somewhere. Readers are smart. They ask tough questions and bless me with surprising moments of empathy. Things have taken on a life of their own and I’m excited to chase after them, but I could hardly say where the chase is going.
And sitting in a seafood restaurant in Portland I had a keen moment of deja vu. It was fourteen years ago and I was driving from California to Florida, leaving everything behind except 3 parrots, a red-tailed hawk and what I could fit of my own in my truck. I’d rarely been out of California. I had shut down the process serving business that had done quite well for me. I turned down the law school that had offered me a partial scholarship. And I ran off to train birds for a rich, but far from lucrative living.
I had stopped in Louisiana to eat creole seafood, because I loved seafood and it was something I had never done, because I wanted to do things I loved and had never done. Then I burst into tears when the waiter asked me what I wanted to eat.
I didn’t know what I wanted to eat, but I gladly accepted the beer he brought after he assessed the situation. I didn’t know much of anything really. I didn’t even know what was going to be next. I just knew I had taken a tremendous risk and despite my sheer terror, was 100% certain that this was what I was supposed to do. That didn’t make me feel any less terrified or alone, but I wiped away my tears, ate my oysters and got back on the road. It was the best thing I have ever done for myself.
Now here I am again. So I’m going to quit my whining, enjoy the oysters and get back on the road.
Thank goodness, falconry is a mere few weeks and a couple of tail feathers away. I need some grounding.
I like the sharp, steady, steely gaze of that bird. Wish I could always be like that.
One of the reasons I write about falconry on my blog, and occasionally for magazines is so that I can feel like I am connected. There just aren’t that many falconers in my daily life so it is hard to feel like I’m connected. as you know, sometimes the birds can become and all consuming and welcome part of your life. I often feel the need to communicate with others who “get it”. So many people don’t.
This time of year seems to be especially hard, and I often feel a disconnect with the other people around me. I want nothing more than to be flying my bird, reveling in the soft sound of bells in the branches above me, but it is not quite time.
I think I understand how you feel.
Congratulations on the book. I look forward to reading it.
Doug