🦜 “I am not an ornithologist — I am a bird.”
On keeping why keeping tiny promises matters
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“I am not an ornithologist — I am a bird.”
—Curtis Sittenfeld, quoting Saul Bellow
When I started this Substack two summers ago, I had posts spilling out of me faster than I could write them. At first, I thought I might publish once a week, but there was too much to say. Too much I wanted to set free after years of holding it in.
I love this Saul Bellow sentiment, about experiencing and embodying his characters rather than analyzing them academically,1 because for once in twenty years of publishing online (including three career/business advice books), and perhaps to my detriment, I don’t claim to have any answers here.
I am not an expert, I am a bird.
I’m not the most beautiful or smartest or savviest or wisest or wittiest bird, or anything close. I am just one bird, writing about what it’s like, for me, to be this bird, with this life, on this branch, hoping maybe a few other birds will want to share some of these tiny seeds with me for emotional and creative sustenance, while also trying not to slam into too many glass walls.
Yesterday at the park, I saw a baby bird haranguing its mother for crumbs from the grass. Every time she fed him, he chased after her, pecking at her, and then insistently opening his mouth, asking for more! more! She dutifully complied, as you can see in a silly, shaky video of this sweet interaction in the footnotes.2 Promises are like that, too; even the tiniest ones. They can be demanding, even when the crumbs and clues aren’t forthcoming. Keep going, keep looking, continue asking, continue answering.
I am still self-conscious every time I publish an essay here, despite the promises I’ve made to myself and to you to show up consistently: Shouldn’t I be an ornithologist instead? Am I killing my career to drop the pretense that I am?