Observation #3 Sounds Familiar
Something I thought I would miss is recognising the sounds of birds. Since I was a boy growing up in the Scottish countryside, birdsong has followed me.
I have always flirted with the world. It is how I tick. My life has been lit up by being around people. I rely on the unnoticed routines and behaviours that anchor us to each other, the daily touch points we experience as we move forward on our separate paths encountering friends, passing acquaintances and strangers too.
I am immersed here in wonderful new experiences and people, but some days I miss those instinctive interactions that come from knowing people well; the intuitive gesture or knowing look between friends, where no explanation or small talk is required. The virtual exchanges of social media can, to some extent, channel these gregarious reflexes and do bring the occasional dash of delight. But it will take time to collect the personal camaraderie and ease of familiarity and friendship.
Some of the best moments of my days are the peaceful early morning walks in Central Park. Something I thought I would miss is recognising the sounds of birds. Since I was a boy growing up in the Scottish countryside, birdsong has followed me. Though I have lived in cities for forty years, though barely perceptible to most people, birds have always been some kind of grounding, a connection to the world around me, even to myself. I can still hear the soundtrack to my youth, the haunting skirl of the Curlews, the rising descant of the Skylark and the rippling notes of the Yellowhammers as I tramped through the countryside.
I was a keen birdwatcher back then, enthusiastically identifying new species from my dog-eared Observer Book of Birds, learning the markings and flight patterns by heart; the flash of the Flycatcher as he weaves through the clouds of insects in summer always returning to the same spot, the aerial histrionics of a young Peregrine learning to stoop free-fall through the sky to stun her prey, a mob of Fieldfares and Redwings raiding the hedgerows in late autumn. I have never lost that awareness of birds as I go about my life.
Coming here, I worried that I would lose that connection, the reassurance of knowing the company in among the trees. So armed with the Merlin app on my phone, I have been recording their songs and getting to know my newly acquainted feathery chums. It has been a wonderful revelation so far. I am entranced by the astonishing varieties and their wonderful names, some almost familiar like the American Robin, Goldfinch, Red-Winged Blackbird, Water Thrush, Tufted Titmouse and Waxwings, then others I have never heard before: Grackles and Cardinals and the exotic sounding Scarlett Tanager (pictured), Eastern Towhee and Baltimore Oriole. But they are not all high-falutin here, there are any number of different species of sparrow. My favourite is the White-throated Sparrow with his smart yellow eyebrows, who gives a nonchalant whistle like a street urchin up to no good.
It is no surprise to me that moving to New York has been challenging in this way. Taking on a new country and culture is an adventure, moving beyond the comfort of the known. Like all of the most interesting journeys you begin with a compass not a map. You find your direction first, and see where it leads. It is forcing me to marshal my inner resources and to examine what is important in life, what to keep and what to shed. This city is different from what I know, despite looking so familiar. But it is fascinating and bold and beautiful. And it is opening up the new in me.I suppose rather like the birds, it will take some time to get to know.