This year, I’ve selected the Eastern Bluebird as my bird of the year. Choosing a bird of the year might sound as trendy as those annual lifestyle declarations—like selecting a word or creating a vision board to define your next twelve months. But choosing a bird of the year feels more alive and requires you to look up, pay attention and create small invitations for wonder.
I know, I know—the bluebird choice sounds as trite as telling someone to dance like nobody’s watching. You see, I didn’t just choose the bluebird; I tricked a pair of them to my bird feeder. It was during a rare Lowcountry snowfall, the kind that coats palm trees and buries tractor seats and hydrangea bushes with a sly surprise only Mother Nature can pull off.
The neighborhood’s usual feathered hotspots were socked in with a layer of snow and ice, leaving the local avian population in quite a predicament. So, I pounced on the opportunity to tempt them to my place. There I was, wearing socks on my hands, shivering in the howling north wind, as I sprinkled a hefty (pricey) selection of mealworms and fancy seeds on and around my feeders. I felt like a feathered chef preparing a five-star meal for my unsuspecting guests. And then, to my amazement, they arrived—a plump, hungry pair of Eastern Bluebirds, their vibrant blue feathers a stark contrast against the white landscape.
I mean, I could have gone with something more intriguing, like an owl to invite in wisdom and mystery, or the tiny Carolina wren with her exuberant song. Perhaps a cardinal visiting from the afterlife? There are so many choices, and I went with the happiness one.
The “Bluebird of Happiness,” to be exact. They’re supposed to represent joy, hope, and good fortune. In Christianity, they’re even considered angels who come to the lonely with messages from God. Native Americans consider them a positive force symbolizing happiness, renewal and spiritual connection to nature.
Still, it occurs to me that the thing about happiness—you can’t just choose it, can you?
Despite the mountain of self-help books, the act of finding happiness continues to elude seekers. So maybe, just maybe, tricking it in is the way to go?
As I stood at the window, delighting in the sight of these unexpected visitors with their cerulean plumage, orangey breasts and take-charge attitudes, I realized something.
Perhaps this is a happiness strategy. Provide the food, take advantage of the circumstances, and tempt joy to your doorstep. It’s not foolproof, but neither is anything else in this messy, beautiful life. So here I am, the unlikely bird whisperer, having successfully lured in my symbols of happiness. Will it last? Who knows. But for now, I’m content watching my feathered friends feast, their presence a reminder that sometimes, joy comes in unexpected packages—and occasionally needs a little help finding its way to your door.
Certainly, happiness isn’t something we can capture, but maybe it’s something we create—like handfuls of scattered mealworms on a snow-covered feeder. It’s about showing up, being present, and creating small invitations for wonder. The bluebirds didn’t know they were part of my happiness quest, just as we rarely recognize the moments that will later define our joy. They came because I prepared the ground, watched with patience, and remained open to surprise. And isn’t that the real trick? Not forcing happiness but creating the conditions where it might—just might—decide to land.
Finally, to all the owls, wrens, chickadees, cardinals, and woodpeckers out there: don’t take it personally. There’s always next year.
