I don’t know if you’ve followed the story of the eaglets out in Big Bear Valley in California (they have two live camera streams, one on the nest where the babies hatch & then grow into juveniles eaglets, and another wider view of the area that captures the panoramic view of the lake and the surrounding trees), but in the past week it has been all about the Fledge Watch, holding our collective breaths around the world each time one of the siblings flapped and seemed about to launch from one of the branches around the nest. While I wish I could watch the streaming video all day long, that clearly is not possible. And, so, one day last week I returned to my laptop to discover only one eaglet in the nest.
A collection of video clips showed the graceful first flight of the older eaglet, Sunny, lifting off what the moderators of the livestream refer to as the front porch of the nest. There was a sense of sadness at her departure. That sadness was short-lived as Sunny returned to the nest the next day to hang out with her sister, Gizmo, and enjoy the fish delivered by the parents and rest in the nest. In the coming days, once again we all watched and waited, wondering when Gizmo, who is three days younger than her sister, would take her fledgling flight.
That day came yesterday.
I had met up with a friend for breakfast and when I came home and opened my laptop to the YouTube streaming account, I discovered an empty nest in the shot. Refreshing my YouTube feed provided me with the sidebar options I was seeking—a video about Gizmo’s accidental fledging (sometimes referred to as fludging, apparently). As I watched the video, it seems clear that Gizmo’s fledge came more from necessity than from her planning to do so. She had been flapping and bouncing and looked like she was going for a hovering maneuver and didn’t quite stick her landing when returning to the front porch branch. Because the second talon didn’t find its mark, she flapped her wings and took off in new directions, eventually landing on the branch of a nearby tree. She was safe and sound and I felt the relief flood through me; sometimes watching the antics and activities of these two young eagles feels a bit too personal.
Since her fledging, I have ascribed too many human thoughts and emotions to Gizmo, the accidental fledgling. In her I see my own faltering steps certainly. But, even more, I see my own teenagers. We see the first flight of Sunny and that seems to encapsulate our ideals of what the process of leaving the nest will look like, not only for a young eaglet, but for our own teenagers: carefully calculated, graceful, exactly as everyone hopes it will go.
But then there is Gizmo. Her moment appears marred and filled with missteps, faltering steps that weren’t intended and led to an accidental fledging moment. Yet, her moment seems to capture life, real life, whether yours, mine, or the one our kids are living out each day. Because here’s the deal: faltering steps count. Those faltering, stumbling, first steps in the direction of their lives matter as much, maybe more, than the perfect ones we believe they need to take (or that we believe their peers have taken).
I have watched a few videos of Gizmo’s “accidental” fledging, and, honestly, there is no accident in that moment. In fact, what I see is how she recovered from a difficult moment and used that to launch herself into the air and take flight. Just like her sister, but different. Gizmo found a safe place to land, and one of her parents found her there and checked in and even brought her something to eat. And then? Our little eaglet flew on to another spot, landing with all the eagle grace of any other eagle. In other words, progress isn’t always linear.
Faltering steps count. Those are the words I have spoken into my girls’ lives often. They are words I’ve spoken to myself, too. All the planning and all the anticipation doesn’t necessarily translate into perfect execution. But it does prepare us for the moment we launch ourselves into our lives—into a project, into a class, into a new job or a new group or a new opportunity. It prepares us and then, like with Gizmo, the rest is up to us to raise those wings and take off.
I have watched my girls do this again and again and again. And, like with watching Gizmo, sometimes I hold my breath and release it after the fact, after their winging off into the activity, opportunity, or group. And every time, I am both awed and amazed at what my girls are willing and capable of doing; I applaud them and I cheer them on. Even when the moments look more like missing the mark. Even when the moment we all hoped would look and feel perfect and graceful and as it should, but instead includes flailing and missteps and faltering before the eventual flying. Because here’s the truth: flying is flying. No matter the take off. No matter the form. No matter what anyone else expects. Flying is flying. And I have watched these two amazing young women fly. I have watched them soar. And they inspire me each and every time they take flight.