Letting Go of Control — the Relief of Not Knowing

The baby cuckoo knows, when it infiltrates a reed warbler’s nest, to push out all other eggs so it’s the only chick left.

Some species of butterfly can actually hear the dehydration of nettle plants, and so only choose hydrated, healthy plants on which to lay their eggs.

And entire bird’s nests, including the chicks therein, can be snaffled up by a predating pine marten at any time.

Yes, I’ve been watching BBC’s Springwatch. 

And it’s fascinating. But aside from learning more about jackdaws and coo-ing over grebe chicks (and occasionally facepalming at Chris Packham’s Prada bucket hat), it’s reminded me of how little we actually know.

About all things.

Humans have developed an unusual ability for arrogance. We think we know all the variables, at any given moment. In nature, and elsewhere. We think this — this moment, this general situation you find yourself in, this job, this relationship, this state of health — is it. We think we know all the factors when we make a decision. We’re in control.

But Springwatch is showing me how much like reed warbler’s we are — how little control and knowledge we really have. Instead of overwhelming, what if that can be a source of ease? 

Instead of striving endlessly to get it right, or striving endlessly to know it all, or feeling complacent or despairing at the state of our days, what if we succumb — even just an inch — to the mystery instead? 

Who knows what’s just around the next bend. Who knows what magic’s lying in wait for us to stumble over. 

Maybe we can take a leaf out of the reed warbler’s book: showing up, following what feels right, and hoping for the best.

One annoying cuckoo chick that’s three times the size of its adopted parent is another’s saviour for a species in sharp decline (although you wouldn’t know it where I live — a cuckoo’s relentless jabbering on woke me up this morning at 5am.)

---

Get my writing delivered straight to your inbox: