Do you know what a catbird is?

It’s a greyish bird, medium in size, with an absolutely horrible squawk of a call. I know this because one made a nest in my arborvitae hedge.

Our two fat old cats hang out in the yard, chase the occasional mouse, and absolutely freak that catbird out.

I get it.

She’s protecting her nest – those precious eggs.

All of that caterwauling day in and day out is about protecting her kids – something I can get behind – so I embrace it.

That’s what makes today so upsetting and confusing.

It’s Friday night, my office door is shut, and the dinner dishes are done. It’s the weekend and I fall into the leather chair.

Something’s on the rug.
I’m not wearing contacts or glasses. Did I say the weekend has started?
It’s not a shoe.

I grab my glasses and confirm that the catbird is dead on my rug.

She’s bigger than I thought.

Cocoa is clearly not as old and fat as she seems because she’s delivered us this prize.

I praise her. She’s a cat, that’s what she’s wired to do.

But I can’t stop thinking about that catbird – vigilantly protecting her young.
Day after day.
Week after week.

Will they die?

It feels like there’s something to understand here – something about the inevitability of nature.
Is the story of the catbird a tragic one?
Is Cocoa’s tale triumphant?

I suppose it depends on your perspective.

We play to survive – to win – to prevail.

Like the catbird, we may do everything in our power to succeed and still fail. Like Cocoa, we may follow through on an instinct and disrupt something beautiful.

While that may seem grim, I think a life well lived is not about outcomes, mistakes, or expectations met and unmet.

The measure of a life well lived, I think, is how fully you’ve committed to living it.

BIG Love –
Wendy