The Yes Bird

It’s our anniversary. A year of COVID. And almost a year since a little bird paid me a visit. 

Last March, after watching the news creep over the continent, panic buying at the supermarket, and upping my Netflix membership I knuckled down for what I thought would be a couple of weeks. Ah, the naivety of youth.

Not since the first year of my divorce had I had so much time to myself. That post-divorce quiet was self-imposed, Lockdown 1 was state-imposed. But I figured, I’d spent so much time with my demons, they wouldn’t have that much left to say to me.

Yeah…

Within a couple of weeks I was keeping vampire hours, living and sleeping in the same clothes, assembling things in my kitchen with no idea what meal I was up to, and thinking about unrolling my yoga mat one of these months.

Then I had a visitor.

I was sitting on my balcony in Berlin, eating another plate of No One Can See Me Cuisine, when a heard a little tick-tappety-tick. Taking my nose out of the feed bag I saw a bird on my railing, tapping her claws and flicking her head around. 

At this stage I hadn’t left my apartment in five days. And the shock of seeing her was magically jarring. Like a unicorn was seated there, sipping some rainbow tea. She was the most brilliant shade of gold, with green wings. She had so many feathers. Even through the winter cloud light, I could see their iridescent shine. She was the first living thing I’d seen in nearly a week.

I held my breath. Stayed statue still. Just watching her, looking at me, then looking away, then back again.

Without glancing down I slowly tore off a postage stamp of bread, palmed it, and extended my arm out like an uncurling vine. All I wanted was for her to jump onto my hand. To feel her little feet on my skin.

Instead, faster than my eye could see, she was off, spiraling over the tree in the courtyard then out of sight over the rooftops. I stood up without thought, sending food scraps all over my balcony as I almost yelled out, “Come back!” 

And because the writer in me never sleeps, a sentence came to mind. “She thrilled away.” A combination of my excitement to see her, the sound of her wings, and the echoing hole in the universe she left behind.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her for days. I’d compulsively check the bread plate I’d layed out on the balcony. But it was always unpecked. And then I slid into what I know now was my first COVID depression.

It wasn’t the bird. It was what she represented. She was free. I was in a cage. She was a Yes. Time, possibilities, no plan, open sky, this looks like fun, I think I’ll hang on this branch, and then shit on this sports car. Oooh, a worm!

And I was the No. But what I realized after her visit was that my no’s had started a long time before COVID.

Until I was locked up in my apartment the first time round, I didn’t realize how much I had taken “Yes” for granted. I’d said no for reasons I couldn’t even remember. Sometimes it wasn’t a no per se, but a “let’s see,” or, “maybe,” or, “ one day.” Which are worse, because they’re the no’s you pretend you aren’t saying.

Sitting on my couch and watching my birdless balcony, all I could think about were the nights out I didn’t go on, trips I didn’t take, the cities I hadn’t seen, the texts I didn’t return, the friends I’d let drift, the life I hadn’t lived.

Where had these no’s come from? Most were reflexive. There was no debate, I just said no. But it did feel like there was a spectre of the past pushing the no button.

When I started unstitching these knee-jerk no’s I realized they were born from 50 shades of fear, old patterns, or other people’s that I’d picked up. Some no’s were there for good reasons. It’s wise to have healthy boundaries. But many of these boundaries had gone past their use by dates and I’d still kept them in the fridge to snack on.

Here on the island I found my no’s were in full swing. So I started doing a little experiment. Every time I’d want to say no to something, I’d stop and ask myself why. What surprised me was how many were incidences and ideas from my marriage, high school, living out of suitcase for three years (twice), my childhood, shit jobs, and fake friends that had all attached themselves with hooks which had rusted through.

When I’d pull out a hook in my head, I’d gently rub the spot where it was, and smile to myself. And I started thinking about that bird again. The Yes Bird. I’ve had some very nice yes’s since. But so have friends of mine too. I see you all there on Insta. So here’s a little list that I think the Yes Bird, would give a yes to. To mark the end of a Year of No’s.

Yes to netflixing with your dog on Friday night even after Lockdowns are done.
Yes to making snowmen in compromising positions.
Yes to taking your kids out in a van and homeschooling in a forest.
Yes to loungeroom discos with lazers.
Yes to iceskating on the river.
Yes to buying tickets to things that might get cancelled because a girl just has to plan.
Yes to a wall of fragrances, why stop at three?
Yes to starting podcasts when you have no idea what you’re doing.
Yes to moving out.
Yes to having conversations with strangers when you don’t speak each other’s language.
Yes to painting; art, interiors, walls, public spaces and your dog’s nails.
Yes to making cupcakes and eating them all.
Yes to only fitting in one pair of pants now but making a dozen outfits out of it.
Yes to making a plan.
Yes to being ready to set it on fire.
Yes to you.
Yes to me.
Yes to us.