The meadow was bathed in orange evening light, the velvety summer air smooth and luxurious on our bare shoulders. For photographers, this is the God Hour. The stunning backdrop of the crunchy summer meadow, its tall, reedy plants swaying and scratching each other in the breeze, was almost unbearably beautiful. We were wrapping up. The final shot, the model directly in front of the setting sun, and my friend Meggan Joy, the photographer, had asked me to shoot behind the scenes shots for her while she shot a senior portrait, along with her husband.
None of us realized that resting somewhere in this vast amber meadow was a little yellow bird and a big, black SUV. The police pulled the big machine up behind our cars, blocking us in, and bellowed from their windows to go back to our cars immediately. I was elated to have gotten that last shot, and wondered what the hell was happening.
As we handed over our ID’s and registration, the shorter of the two short men informed us that we were trespassing into a protected area, due to the presence in this meadow of an endangered species. From under his authority-imbued eyebrows, he informed us that we were on Federal land, and could potentially be arrested for trespassing, or heavily fined, or have our cars impounded, or all of the above. The second stood on the far side of my car, looking in through my passenger window. He seemed to be willing my camera, pregnant with amber-lit shots and waiting in the front seat, to give up its secrets.
They were tough alright, with their black car/crewcuts/uniforms/guns. But even a bad ass cop looks less fierce when, after I ask him what exactly is the name of the endangered animal, answers a little meekly, “Oh, well…I believe it’s called a Streak Horned Lark.” Turns out this little lark is on the “proposed” list for endangerment, but is not yet. Good news! It was obvious we were only there photographing, and had no idea we were potentially harming any birds. We had followed back roads and simply did not see the signs.
After 30 minutes, we were duly and sternly warned and free to go, and given instructions about how to purchase a permit for the future. In the meantime, we walked away with beautiful, sunset shots from the God Hour, and I was pleased to know there are police out there patrolling on behalf of innocent birds nesting on the ground. As it turns out, the bird has been proposed to be endangered, though is not official yet. Nonetheless, one mustn’t cause unnecessary tweets of the actual variety.
The Streak Horned Lark is lucky to have bad ass cops, a gorgeous, open meadow, and plenty of God Light every single day. That’s a beautiful thing.
If you’d like to learn more, click here for a bit more information about this little bird – the original kind, strictly tweeting offline.
(Gently) Opening Our Hidden Rooms
For many of us, so carefully and meticulously do we hide deeply important things that we utterly forget where we put them. Key to the neighbor’s car. Favorite red pen. That one-off coupon for free ice cream. The golden locket you inherited from your mom, the one with the inscribed lilac blossom. You know how it is – you get something you’ve got to be sure you’ll never, ever lose, you put it in the “special place”, and poof! Bye bye, precious thingdeal!
Putting things we’ll be sure to find them is the magic formula for ensuring we’ll never, ever see them again. It’s the fault of the earth’s gravitational field, I’m sure of it, because those things get sucked into some far away universe, or under the couch, or in some weird terrifying blend of the two.
But we do it with our thoughts, hopes, and dreams too, as well as the beliefs we want to run from; for instance, we squirrel away our fears that we are failing ourselves, or wasting our time on this job/relationship/mortgage/book. It’s too hard to look at, the possible badness or wrongness or hopelessness. This is hiding the truth of ourselves from ourselves in order to avoid sensations of shame, guilt, hopelessness and sorrow. There’s one more useful reason though: avoidance of the truth of why we do things allows us to simply do what we really intend to do anyway without directly confronting head-on why we feel we shouldn’t.
This sort of self-deception is how most of us put on so much weight over time, avoid unpleasant phone calls, put off paying bills – but worse yet, it’s also how we put our dreams on ice. This is where we avoid our own avoidance but also, so much worse, we avoid our own successes.
This is not surprising, this avoidance. Aside from a basic sense of self-criticism lurking barely beneath the skin for most people, honesty has come to have a brutal connotation in the last 30 years, especially when it comes to the relationship with ourselves. Thanks to the self-help movement of the 70’s and up to today, self-disclosure has taken on a sense of beating oneself into a bloody, honest pulp. “Ego” came to be seen as a bad word, and the idea that we should be more forthright with ourselves did, sometimes, involve painful disclosure to a highly critical listener. Baked in here is so often a real lack of compassion for the reasons we hide things from ourselves, and what to do about it. I’d suggest we often don’t understand why we do things because we wait to understand them before we’ll allow compassion – but perhaps assuming a better stance might be compassion first, knowledge second.
Besides, if it’s true that we grew up on the African Savanna, hiding from things is in our DNA. Perhaps we need it. Perhaps if we don’t have enough stealth in order to survive, we just make up danger and we ourselves become both the lion in the tall grass and the gazelle innocently drinking.
I recall attending a required “growth” seminar for work once in which a woman was dissolved into tears in front of 600 attendees as she was “confronted” with her own sense of failure by a teacher who did not know her and did not love her. He certainly was not going to be around to pick up the pieces when this thing was over with and she hated herself more than when she woke up that morning, her secrets and fears now smeared into the invisible social marketplace with a brutal public flogging. I do not think this sort of pain and self-disclosure make for happy bedfellows, not long term. In other words, it’s not a sustainable sort of honesty – nor a sustainable happiness.
In the spirit of a gentle and encouraging movement toward happiness, it’s worth considering that a more frank discussion with ourselves about our little avoidances could actually be helpful.
Consider writing down everything you are lying to yourself about. Every little deception. The avoidances. The things you’d rather not know. Put this somewhere that no one else will see it, and promise yourself you will be so soft and gentle and just “talk it over” with yourself, like you might with a kind friend.
Try having a moment’s meditation with yourself; imagine yourself seated in a beautiful meadow, full of flowers. Invite yourself to drop in; picture yourself strolling into the field, happy and content, and sit down across from yourself. Feel yourself there to be a great friend to yourself; you can be if you aren’t already. Explain to your newly arrived self that you would like to understand a few things, no pressure, and ask yourself to assist you to understand what matters you may be keeping from yourself, or avoiding; things you are a little afraid to be totally honest with yourself about. At this juncture it’s not a bad idea to promise that this conversation is “confidential” between you and you, although at a later date you might find there are things you need to discuss with others, although maybe not – remember, this exercise is not to encourage more running from what’s true.
Talk it over, ask for clarification without justification, and chat about whether it’s possible that anything of things could see the light of day – within yourself. When you’re done, make that list of everything you are deceiving yourself about. Everything, small and large; every major and minor infraction toward yourself or others. This can include the good stuff! It’s not always easy to be honest about the things we’re good at or have done well.
When you have your list written down, do nothing with it – not yet. Thank yourself for your bravery and candor, put the paper in a very safe place, or burn it. Know that you understand yourself more now, and this can never be a bad thing. Discuss this with no one unless you have an agreement with yourself to do so.
Try this again once a month for 3 months and see what you feel in your life now that your self-relationship is building more honest trust – always a good thing.
Softly, softly, as they say in Australia. It’s the only way to climb a thorny mountain.