It was late afternoon. Early evening was approaching. Over the west wall, above low clouds faintly tinged orange-to-pink along the horizon, the sun’s semi-circle was slipping away. Standing idly in my compound enjoying its last rays I had a new awareness.
In my regular routine, I had been watching an Indian robin—black with a rusty patch under its cocked tail—alternate its body in a reliable pattern of scurrying and stopping with a quick turning of its head. Mosquitos, a friend had recently told me, as an explanation.
Suddenly I said aloud, “the reliable robin,” recognizing that I was not referring to its pattern, but to its appearance each night that I had come to rely on. “It might be the same one,” I thought, as I felt filled with its friendliness for my presence that hadn’t disturbed it.
Reliability is not always present in my life. I’ve learned to move from disappointment to acceptance as quickly as possible when words don’t turn out to produce what I’d thought I’d heard. I reached a turning point where I became aware that I could choose to question or say nothing, and by increasing my thoughtfulness, I have more often found my original feeling allayed, bringing a change in my interpretation.
My realization is, “To be able to rely is desirable, but when reliability isn’t present, it can be an opportunity for thoughtfulness and potential new views.”