What I can and can't do

I stayed in Ann Arbor over the break for the first time last summer, after graduating from college. For the most part, the days went by uneventfully. I would hang out or study with friends while preparing for the FSOT (Foreign Service Officer Test) and other job applications, play video games, go to potlucks, and make smoothies. Life *felt* good in a sense, if a bit pointless, in hindsight. Yet at times there were moments that forced me to stop and just think for awhile.

The baby bird was one of them.

It's been more than a year now, and I can't remember exactly when it happened. There may be inaccuracies in the story since it's been awhile, so if anyone who was there has corrections they wish to make, feel free to do so in the comments. I know it was just before I had to leave Ann Arbor for a little while, perhaps for Margaret and Hyden's wedding, or the trip to D.C., but otherwise it could have been any other day. I was studying + procrastinating in my living room in Alg #8 one afternoon, when Justin brought in a shoebox. I could hear the sound of a bird chirping. He said Jenny(?) had found it outside their house, out of its nest, and gave it to him. At any rate, it arrived in front of me for some reason or the other. There was some grass inside, and I have to admit it was one of the ugliest birds I had ever seen.

It kept chirping. We wanted to take care of it somehow because we had no idea how or where to return it to its nest. But we didn't know how to feed it. What did it eat? How did it drink water? How much should we feed it in one sitting? Was it too cold? Too warm? I recall taking some nuts and grinding them up as best I could, dropping it into the baby bird's mouth because it didn't seem to eat unless you fed it directly, and I afraid I'd inadvertently cause it to choke on its food and die. If nothing else, it was fragile. A small, fragile life. Grace and I would bring it what we could, cupping water in our hands and trying to get it to drink. We eventually got back to studying because in all honesty, there wasn't much we could do. I spent the rest of the afternoon on the internet trying to find resources detailing how to take care of a baby bird. It really hit me when I realized most sites said that despite our best intentions, the bird was likely to die no matter what we did. The sense of helplessness when there seems to be so much hope can at times be even more devastating than when it's clear to all what's going to happen.

I took it to my room when I went to sleep that night, listening to it chirp intermittently. I wondered why it had come to us, and what I was supposed to learn from this, watching it die. Was there something I could do? Was this supposed to motivate me to get off my ass and *do* something, to find ways, explore methods or talk to people I wouldn't have considered consulting otherwise? I was simultaneously relieved, yet burdened when I checked on it again in the morning, finding it still chirping and alive, but seemingly weaker than the day before. I don't know if it was actually weaker. It may have ben purely psychological on my part, resulting from helplessness. I just recall thinking, "I feel so worthless right now." I had to leave town shortly thereafter (as noted above, I can't remember where). We returned the bird and the shoebox to Justin. I don't know about the others, but I feel as if I was trying to block it out, hoping that by not thinking about it - my "problem", whether the bird itself or my own feelings, wouldn't exist.

It was dead when I came back. I was told there wasn't anything I could have done. Yet I felt this gnawing feeling eating away at me. You should have done more research about what kind of bird it was, learn more about it. You should have looked more closely for its parent's nest, maybe if they found the baby they could rescue it. You shouldn't have tried to block it out by playing video games. I can't put this into words perfectly, but it ate into me, and at the same time, it didn't. I was growing numb, I think. It was simply fate. The bird's role in my life, that short 24 hours, was to show me there was so much we cannot do.

In a sense, I still stand by this statement. As far as external happenings that affect our lives, we are merely players in a greater world. But in another way, I've learned to see another take on it. What we can't do is control what happens to us perfectly. That's attempting to play God, and it can't happen. I would argue it *shouldn't* happen, because many things occur in our lives that are ultimately beneficial to us, but they're painful, and if given the choice, it's quite possible we'd stop them from happening, even if it's the best thing, in greater context. But what we do have power over is our response to the world.

I can't change the fact that my friend gets cancer. But I can choose how I will react to it, how it affects me. All I love and cherish, everyone's going to pass on one day. Will I let grief take me, or will I accept it with genuine joy, knowing what it actually is in the greater picture? This is my choice. Too often we settle when realizing that there are things beyond our control, and leave it at that. A sense of bitterness and cynicism. I was once like this, but I'm changing. Or at least, trying.

I used to hate the Chinese Communist Party with a passion, largely because of what I felt was unfair treatment and bullying directed towards Taiwan and its people. For torture, callous disregard of life, might makes right, forcing Taiwan to fly a degrading "Chinese Taipei" flag even on its own soil and any international event, so it can feed its ego, however you want to put it. It may be all those things. In fact, it probably is. And I can't change that. There was a time when I was bitter at the world for that. Why is it that he who has the biggest gun makes the rules? Where is the justice in that? I know that this is how the world works, and that *all* countries/governments and most people function like this if given the power.

Then a wise teacher told me, "Why let this destroy you? For what purpose?" Hating the party, being bitter towards the Chinese, isn't going to change a thing. All it's going to do is affect my mood, and fill me with hate. Feeling bitter isn't going to create respect for human rights in China. It's not going to help Taiwan's international standing. So why do I do it? Because it feels good? But it doesn't. I just feel a sense of helplessness. So why do it? Just let it go. I'm not talking about, "fuck it, I don't care". It's about what is truly best for my soul, and I've learned that anger and bitterness isn't something I want to be part of my heart.

So I changed how I react, how I see it, how it gets to me, if it even does anymore. To live in the present, acknowledging what I can and can't do, slowly learning the crucial difference between the two. What I should or shouldn't do, another level of discernment that is even more difficult. That's the path I hope to be walking, and so far it has made all the difference (shameless borrowing of phrasing here from a wonderful poem).