They Jump and Then Learn

I continue to learn so much from my baby robins. I thought they would fledge on Wednesday, but I think I miscalculated. They still stay tucked in the nest, warm and well-fed. I glance at the nest every hour to see if the robins have hopped to the ground.

Yes, they jump out; they do not fly. They cannot fly. They jump and then learn to fly.

Something about that crucial jump encourages me so much as I think about risk-taking, new adventures, and new opportunities. If we wait till we can fly–feeling confident, secure, well-trained, and ready–we’ll never actually make it. We’d never leave the nest because the flying depends upon the jumping and the floundering about to build the muscles for flight.

What’s strange about this morning is the number of birds all around the Winterberry Bush. It’s as if the Northern Cardinal checks in, lending support, while the golden finches fly about, observing. I know it’s not true, but in an animated world, I do imagine nature urging the robins on in a great cloud of witnesses to support what every bird must do at some point. Even as I write this, the hummingbirds dart in and out as if to say, “You can do it! I did it, and look how small I am! You will make it!”

You will make it.


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