Hey y’all. Welcome to Fast Facts for Gen Z. I’m your host, Callie, and I don’t know anything about anything. Come with me on my exploration of the world, and I’ll tell you everything you ever, and never, wanted to know, through the eyes of Gen Z.
Today’s episode: A goose.
I recently found myself in a confusing, dysregulated mental and emotional state. I couldn’t focus, even on the things that were distracting me from the things I tried to focus on. I’ve had a series of unfortunate events occurring, some of which have now resolved or otherwise ended, some of which are ongoing, all of which made dealing with the others rather challenging. All day, I had been trying to work, pulling my focus back time and time again like a kite caught in a tumultuous wind. Sometimes I could do nothing but hold tight and hope I ended up where I needed to be. I was haphazardly grappling with my distractions when my body said “no more” and I stood up, took my phone and keys, and walked out the door. I do not remember making this decision. I was at my desk and suddenly I was outside. I made a phone call, which did not get picked up. Then I walked. I walked up a hill. Across a sidewalk. Into the forest. I stepped slowly over unfamiliar ground. Around thorny plants until I just let them catch on my clothes. Through mud that clung to my feet, pulling me to reality, pleading with me to bring my energy lower to the ground, closer to the earth where it belongs. I pulled my feet free and continued.
I wandered out of the woods, past the tennis courts, across the soccer fields, into and out of a labyrinth, and back into the forest. My pace increased along a well-trodden path, a destination pulling me forward instead of my aimless wandering. I ended up in a cow pasture. I looked out at the mountains and watched the clouds lazily wrap around their peaks. I sat.
(breathe. again.)
Road sounds. Insect sounds. My own breathing. Road, insects, me. Road, insects, me. All my energy was up in my chest, shoulders, and head. Looking only with my eyes.
And then, a goose.
A Canada goose. They’re supposed to be flying south right now. I’ve seen many of their arrows flock across the sky in the past week or so. Their flight patterns fascinate me. They rotate leaders every so often so nobody has to fly straight into a headwind for long. The transitions flow so smoothly. A bird at the back sliding through the center, in between the flurries of wind from other wings. Everyone else drifts to the side and back, making room, letting each other rest. A team, a community, a family. Unquestioning, just flowing.
But this goose was alone. I heard it before I saw it. A clear honking sound. Geese aren’t particularly romantic, so bear with me as I attempt to describe how this made me feel without laughing about how it’s a goose. But it was alone! It honked once, and then paused.
Then another time, and another pause. Again. I scanned the gray, overcast sky for an equally gray goose, following the honking until I found him. He soared, up and down, dipping into the clouds and back out, all the while repeating his honking, pausing, and honking pattern. All alone. Flying north. I followed his flight down towards the pasture until he swept back up into the sky. Honk. Pause. Honk. Pause. It was like he was calling for something. Waiting for an answer, never getting one. But he kept trying. I followed the goose’s silhouette over the road, across another pasture, and over the trees on the far side of the mountain. The road, the insects, and my own breathing had stilled. Honk. Pause.
Faintly, a new honk from a new direction! But it was an echo. Just an echo. Again, a honk, an echo. Just an echo. The goose dipped down towards a nearby house that I know has a pond, somewhere I often see geese. As silly as it seems, I felt hopeful for the goose. But up he flew again, still honking and waiting. No geese on the pond today. I followed him until I lost him, then I listened until I could hear no more.
I’m going to read you a poem by Du Fu, a Chinese poet writing during the 700s who had comparable influence on Chinese literature and culture as William Shakespeare had on English literature and culture. Translated, the title can be “The Solitary Goose,” “Lone Wild Goose,” or “Orphaned Goose.”
The solitary goose does not drink
or eat,
It flies around and calls,
missing its flock …
It looks into the distance:
it seems to see,
It’s so distressed,
it thinks that it can hear.
Unconsciously, the wild ducks
start to call,
Cries of birds are everywhere
confused.
They don’t belong alone. If they lose their mate, they will look for another and live with others, helping with goslings that belong to other geese in the meantime. They have community, society. They don’t belong alone.
My wandering and goose-observation left me considerably more regulated than before. I made phone calls I needed to make. I did things I needed to do. I dealt with what could be dealt with and attempted to set aside that which could not. It didn’t work, of course. Life isn’t so simple. Tomorrow, I intend to take a deeply meditative walk through the forest and down to the river. There I intend to stay until my energy returns to my feet, where it belongs. My body is an extension of the earth, not an extension of me. And it has been disconnected for too long. It shall return.
I have to end this episode with some observations that I’ve made about my friends. No podcast is complete until it becomes a love letter. Which, in a way, this already has, but I have more to say and it feels unsatisfying to tell only them. Everyone needs to know how much I love.
I have a friend whose voice sounds like melted butter. Or nutella, sometimes. Another whose voice sounds like hay. Another’s is sungold cherry tomatoes. One reminds me of low piano music until they say my name, and then they sound like honey. One of them sounds like apple orchards and acoustic guitars, and her partner sounds like stepping stones in a grassy backyard. Today, I watched a stranger stop on their walk, lift a leaf from the ground, and walk a few more steps while examining it before setting it gently on a rock. I had to look away because I was smiling too much. I love people. I love that damn goose.
Thank you for listening to Fast Facts for Gen Z. Make sure to follow this podcast wherever you listen so you never miss a new episode. Love y’all. This is Callie, signing off.
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