Trying

something else

For the last few weeks I’ve been thinking about my next moves with the donor, my new half-bro, niece, etc. While a lot has eased up over the past year, my intense focus on how I could fit in with these people remains constant.

As I’ve written before, it’s clear that this is a theme for me—wanting some kind of affirmation or acceptance. Or to take it further—a desire to insert myself where I might not belong. It’s long been a theme, me playing around with where I fit and how I might move things around if I need or want to.

I’m writing this more freely than I normally would. I am trying something else.

Instead of sending the donor a picture of the great horned owl that I captured as it swooped right in front of me or telling him something about one of my kids, I’m writing this, right now.

I am pretty sure my half-brother will text me something random in the next month, or at least reply to mine. (He usually does, though not the last one—hey, who’s keeping track?? Definitely not me.)

But just for now, I’d rather say this:

A great horned owl swooped in front of me. It went like this: I was walking on the prettiest street and stood under the Aleppo pine where the raptors like to check out dinner options. It’s where our neighborhood red tailed hawks relocated after their main nest was cut down. The owl was a whooshing surprise, nearly dark out, low in front of me.

My eyes adjusted and I watched the branches where it perched. There was who-who-whoing, but not from it (him? her?)—it was coming from the south. My owl looked in that direction, in that crazy way owls look, their necks doing those impossible owl things. Then another who, who, who, and I kept my camera (phone) on, and watched it swoop toward the who.

It was really something.

The last email I sent the donor was embarrassing. It was a barely disguised bullet point list of my achievements. Even worse, I bragged about my kids. It was, in retrospect—even at the time—my rather pathetic way of breaking out the big guns. I felt like I was running out of time and was quickly coming to the end of our polite conversation, whatever interest he had, and whatever it was he considered to be reasonable engagement with this person he never expected to meet. So I wanted to wrap everything up and give it all to him.

I’m trying to forgive myself for this. It’s not my desire to have him know me that is shameful. I’m upset with myself for being manipulative. It doesn’t matter if it works or not—either way, my impulse to appeal to him feels like such a setback.

So more about birds, and next time, about friends who save lives.

And ongoing gentleness toward my needy, desperate, misguided self.