Last week I had a day when nothing went right, and everything took way longer than it should. I tried three times to complete an online insurance form, only to have the website shut down each time. Then I spent half an hour on the phone with the company trying to get an answer, but was cast repeatedly into an automated phone attendant loop, like an escapee from Groundhog Day. Next, I spent an hour, not the 20 minutes I’d allocated, getting a flu shot at a local pharmacy. And on and on the day went, in a series of frustrations large and small to which I responded with neither grace nor equanimity.
At 4:30 I realized that I had not worked for even 10 minutes on what I had gotten out of bed early that morning planning to do. So, I stopped trying. I put away all thoughts of book writing and turned to a photo project that I’ve been working on for a few months. As I looked through the pictures, I recalled the nature drama that had unfolded the day I took them.
I’d been sitting at my desk staring out the window (not all my unproductive days are the result of external misfortune, some just spring from laziness). I saw a hawk land in the yard, and I jumped up and took this photo.
Right afterward, all hell broke loose. With a lightning quick move, the hawk launched into the air, then did an amazing high-speed, almost vertical drop, down to the river. He rose carrying a prize in his claws—a little bird that wriggled and writhed in what seemed to be a doomed escape attempt.
But as I watched, both fascinated and horrified, the bird twisted out of the hawk’s grasp and fell back into the water. I ran to the river’s edge. Just as I reached the bank, I sensed something behind me. I turned to look in time to see an eagle swoop over my head, zeroing in on the little bird that had just escaped from the hawk.
Something–maybe my sudden movement into the line of the eagle’s downward trajectory—threw him off his game. He veered away, leaving his would-be prey to swim another day. And swim she did, with an odd, herky-jerky style, in loopy circles, round and round for several minutes.
Her day had definitely not gone as planned. I stayed on the bank watching her and taking pictures. Several times she attempted to climb up on some rocks, only to slip back into the water and flap about before making another wobbly approach to stable ground. On the fourth attempt, she made it.
I moved in to get another photo, but finally realized that my large human presence was probably even more alarming to her than the two predator birds that had tried to make dinner of her had been. I left her in peace.
As I relived the story yesterday, I thought about that bird, going about her daily business, when out of nowhere a hawk snatched her away from her happy bird life. She didn’t give up, even though the hawk was many times larger and stronger than her. She twisted and turned and gave it her best shot. Wonder of wonders, it worked!
But she didn’t even have time to recover, let alone rejoice, before an even bigger predator zeroed in on her. Now, that’s having a bad day. You slip away from one looming threat, only to be confronted by an even larger one. When the danger unexpectedly passed, she started swimming again. Not in any particular direction at first, but she was moving. And really, if you’re going to stay afloat in life, what else can you do?
Things large and small swoop down on us daily. Sometimes they come so fast they knock us right off course, sometimes they just bump us around a little. The solution for peace of mind is to remember that when things go wrong—and they’re usually of far less consequence than the predator-prey drama I had witnessed—just keep swimming. Sooner or later you’ll get back on course.
This post first appeared in October 2014.