Feathers, Feelings & Forty
On cracking open your emotional repertoire, with a side of bird drama
Birds sending messages
I had two close encounters with birds in the past 10 days.
The first one happened as I was strolling down the main promenade, minding my own business and soaking in the coziness and familiarity of the street I used to walk along daily as a high school student. Out of nowhere, a pigeon flew past me so closely that its wing grazed my cheek. Not sure where it was rushing to, but it snapped me back to the present.
The second one was a seagull, whose descent trajectory was rudely interrupted by the top of my head. Neither of us was hurt, thankfully, though I was left standing in distress for a solid minute or two after the said seagull left out a banshee-like shriek right above my head (NOT great for my auditory sensitivities!).
I wonder if it was a warning… or a warning.
It made me think of the TV show Dead Like Me, where the protagonist dies after being hit with a toilet seat falling from the space station. The leap from that to my upcoming birthday was swift.
I’m turning 40 on Monday. It feels like it *should* feel big, but birthdays were always low key in my family so…
The puzzle pieces
Most things were low-key, actually. Composed, restrained, toned down, serious. “We don’t get elated,” as my mom would often say, as if uninhibited emotion was something that plays out in telenovelas, but not real life. I was about four years old when I was called “too serious” for the first time, by my kindergarten teachers. Labels catch on quickly, at that age and later in life. For some reason, it was a source of pride for my parents, having this serious, responsible child who’s couldn’t be fooled by the usual “is the stork bringing you a baby brother” babble…
Aged 11, I was dubbed a “guardian angel” by a couple of 16-year-olds at the English language summer school in Melton Mowbray, UK, when they relied on my level-headed approach to balance out their teenage impulsivity, and remind them to give up cigarettes. Oh, at age 16 I was known as “the mother of the group”, always making sure everyone’s safe and that nobody’s grand gestures were driven exclusively by alcohol or hormones. And at 20 “an old soul”, mediating relationship drama between my 27-year-old friends, who somehow managed to be adults with jobs but still couldn’t communicate their feelings without assistance.
So yeah, I’m 40 (it’s Monday today… I’m a slow writer!) - and for the first time, maybe ever, my chronological age might actually match my internal experience. Remains to be seen!
Feeling and thinking and feeling
I’m not into doing the milestone inventory checks, bucket lists, or setting ambitious goals for “the next chapter.” Truth is, I’m not a fan of five-year plans, and deep down, I’ve always been too unwilling to follow the script of quasi-linear progressions from A to B. I’ve always tended to lean into what I actually feel, even though where I grew up, logic was king.
We didn’t do emotions in my family. Habitually (or normatively) turning to hardcore logic, throwing around rational arguments to put a lid on unwanted emotional expression, playing intellectual ping-pong to prove a point - oh, yes. Endless exchanges of trivia, “fun facts”, and similar displays of the “knowledge is power” doctrine was a favourite pastime. To be fair, it did come in handy when I charmed my future husband by, obviously unexpectedly, knowing who the only player in NBA history to score 100 points in a game was (it was Wilt Chamberlain).
But joy? That wasn’t really part of the family curriculum. We did competence, caution, crisis management. But laughing out loud, spontaneously, fully, wasn’t “our brand”.
So I learned what was acceptable and how to tone down the intensity. Classical effing conditioning.
It took me decades to become conscious of this gap in my repertoire. In coach training a few years back we were tasked to do an exercise called “Letter to…”. The idea was to write a letter to an emotion of choice, personifying it and writing about our relationship in the past, present and future. With the Wheel of Emotions printed out, it took me split second to choose joy. I hadn’t realised how much my link to vibrancy got dimmed over time. I had become so resigned to mellowness that genuine joy seemed unattainable.
In the well-known manner of “once you see it, you can’t unsee it”, I took on the quest for noticing joyfulness and allowing myself to finally dial it up.
Simple pleasures?
And then, a few weeks back an invitation landed in the form of Todd Kashdan’s text on peak non-sexual, non-drugged pleasures.
It’s not about mindfulness, intentionality, gratitude, glimmers, savouring, or any of the trending positive psychology concepts - or maybe it’s about all of these, just not at the conceptual level, but at the level of actual, specific experiences. This was an invitation to get so granular about the experience of pleasure that is precious exactly because it’s personal and inalienable.
So Todd, thanks for being an unintentional guide on my joy-noticing quest. Here’s my list:
Half-dozing on a summer afternoon, sea breeze sneaking in through the open window, and a ceiling fan rhythmically spinning
Taking the bra off
The first bite of watermelon - my personal sign that the summer has begun
Being tucked in when I’m feeling cold
Rapid fire meme exchange with my best friend (whom I only see in person twice a year, yet he gets all the references + where my mind is at)
Spontaneously harmonising with my eldest when she starts singing in another room
Making up silly/ridiculous words to make a point (this is only accessible to my husband and makes him laugh)
Crying freely to comedy TV shows (not a typo)
Nailing the perfect swirl when I’m decorating cupcakes
Hitting the high notes with the right intensity when I sing What’s Up by 4 Non Blondes
Brewing the first morning coffee
Getting out of my comfort zone with my youngest - with Pokemon Go, the wildest fairground ride of her choosing or riding a skateboard
Dancing to ABBA hits, like I’m still 10 in my mom’s kitchen
Showing my kids my favourite video-games from the 90s and impressing them by still knowing every secret passage
Finding a retro ice-cream in Slovenia - the kind we used to have while we were still one country back in the 80s - and sharing it with my kids
Completing a crossword, rebus, and sudoku on the first try
Reading the little pep talks from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Gmorning, Gnight! with my eldest, every morning and every night
Complementing emotional playlists
So here I am, finally noticing joy. The odd, completely personal moments that I get to relish.
Maybe you’ve muted joy for a while. I have a hunch it might be true for overthinking, over-intellectualising folk who were conditioned into logic as kids. Maybe it’s tenderness, excitement or silliness that’s missing from your playlist. Maybe many of us walk around with entire sections of emotional playlists stuck on mute. Most of us skip emotional tracks we were never taught to sit with.
The good news? You get to reintroduce the tracks you’ve been taught to skip. If you wish.
And it doesn’t have to be a milestone birthday soon either.
Joyfully,
Irena
Here’s to the 1985 club and here’s to unbridled joy
Happy Birthday! 🎈❤️✨