A friend texted me after seeing some of my Instagram posts recounting the birds I’ve spotted:
“You’ve officially reached old man status!”
A new notion? Perhaps!
I was inspired, oddly enough, by The Residence on Netflix. Specifically the main character, Cordelia Cupp, a world-famous consulting detective called in to investigate the death of the chief usher at the White House. Much like her literary and cinematic forebears — Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, and Benoit Blanc — Cordelia exudes a quiet confidence, unintimidated by the powerful, and solves mysteries through keen originality and sharp analysis.
On some level, I think my interest in birding has more to do with my aspiration to be like her: highly observant, with a razor-sharp memory for detail; patient; and the smartest person in the room. These are qualities I hope to cultivate in myself. And while watching birds obviously isn’t going to transform me into a genius detective overnight, I believe the practice offers lessons that can inch me closer to those ideals. Graaakkkllle!
Truth be told, I’ve never been much of an animal person. Looking at animals, interacting with them, rarely stirred anything in me. Except for the occasional cat or dog, though even then I’m extremely picky. Cats and dogs often trigger my allergies, and while I know that doesn’t mean all animals will, I’ve been conditioned to approach most creatures with caution.
So colour me surprised when I found myself genuinely enjoying watching birds, learning their names, admiring the intricate details of their feathers and movements. Somehow I had forgotten that real life could be so breathtaking. I’m convinced our HD-4K screen-addled brains have warped our sense of wonder. I mean, why go out of your way to experience the real thing when you can stay comfortably at home, consuming it all on demand?
Because watching common swifts dart across the sky, or great crested grebes diving and resurfacing in a quiet river, or cormorants drying their wings on a perch: these moments slow time. They slow me. I’ve always found it difficult to relax, but birding softens my anxieties, steadies my breath, grounds my feet. Birding is healing! It is medicine, a cure-all for those affected by hyper-capitalist afflictions.
Another aspect I find surprisingly enjoyable is the little thrill of ‘catching’ a new species. It’s a bit like Pokémon hunting: try to spot as many different kinds as possible, then log what you find. I’ve been using a free app called Merlin ID—probably the most wholesome app on my phone. No ads, no dopamine traps. A rare platform that isn’t trying to extract anything from me. Existing purely out of love for bird observation.
It’s so easy to forget that we live on a planet with unfiltered beauty right before our eyes and that the natural world is always there, waiting to be witnessed. All we have to do is pay attention.
Birds! What a gift. Their songs and calls (even the startling squawk of a heron) are a kind of grace. Logging them feels like a small act of gratitude. A way of saying, Thank you. I see you.
“You’ve officially reached old man status!”
At 34, I wear this as a badge of honour. But what is it about birds that speaks so universally to people as they grow older? Is it the freedom they represent? No cholesterol, no rent, no tax deadlines to dread? Or simply the everyday miracle of their existence, made more poignant by an awareness of mortality?
Whatever it is, I’m in deep.
mostly earnest 