Egrets, not regrets

I thought I was writing about egrets till suddenly I realised I wasn’t anymore. I was writing about myself, but I couldn’t stop, so I kept going till I’d written it all. This is the story of how a drawing of a little egret on a piece of cardboard helped me understand a lot about my beginner birding self. While there’s some birding involved, there’s even more about self-confidence, toxic patterns, and the painful expectations we sometimes create for ourselves – things one needn’t be a birder to relate to.

Egrets are among the first birds I took photos of when I got into birding and bird photography. Egrets (little and great) and grey herons were my favourite subjects. I walked the trails around the Nové Mlýny reservoir in the Pálava area, a recurrent birding spot of mine. I scanned the reeds, the tall grass blades on the reservoir shores, hoping to spot one. Always on the lookout, eyes on the ground. Sometimes, after what felt like hours of fruitless quest, my eyes got tired of staring at the water. I’d throw a casual upward glance, and there it was: a great egret attempting an awkward landing on a tree branch in front of me, a little egret flying past in its stiff, almost soldier-like style. Cheeky egrets. Going home with an egret or heron shot in my camera always felt like an accomplishment.

Little egret posing by the lake

The photo above is one I took in those early months of birding, a hot Sunday morning in August 2023. I was out on an unexpected walk at Nové Mlýny. I’d been out the day before, but had only spotted a stunning grey heron posing on a bright blue railing. One heron: not enough. That had left me frustrated and upset. The one thing to do to make up for the ‘waste of time’ was to go back the next day and start over. On Sunday I also resumed my usual lakeshore route. I’d made slight adjustments the previous day, down a path I hadn’t tried before. Since I’d spotted next to no birds on that new route, it was easy to blame it for the fruitless endeavour – the whole How did I think that altering the beaten track was a good idea? and Why did I pick a birdless route? refrain.

The Sunday walk was pleasant, despite the emotional turmoil and the late-morning heat creeping up from the boiling ground. This little egret appeared through the reeds just as I was about to turn back to head back to the car. It stood there wary and motionless, framed by the gentle contour of tall grass blades on its sides. The blinding white of its plumage bounced off the iridescent blue of the water. It made me think of a glossy magazine cover.

When I see these photos now, besides the timeless beauty of birds, I see a lot of my ‘birding beginner self’ in a flurry of messy thoughts. In those early days I measured the success rate of bird walks by the sheer amount of birds I spotted and decent bird photos I took. Few birds meant the walk had been a failure. Few photos meant that either the walk had been a failure or I was one – the latter applying when birds had been out there and I hadn’t managed enough shots.

It took months (years!) to get over this pattern. It felt unequivocal to my dramatic self and its innately low average of self-confidence. There were times when I tried so hard that I barely enjoyed anything in the process: the simple pleasure of being outdoors, the wild joy of spotting birds and seeing them do their bird things, the splendour of nature. All was overshadowed by a sense of inadequacy and defeat I couldn’t shake off. I was too slow, didn’t have firm enough a hand, didn’t have the right settings ready- the list goes on. Always ready to scold myself.

Drawing of the same little egret on a piece of cardboard (post-it courtesy my friend Bobby)

I’m not sure how or when I steered away from that sick equation. I’m improvising here, because when I started writing about egrets I had no idea I’d end up writing about this. As I type these words, though, I understand how I got here. A couple of weeks ago I was looking for a bird subject to draw from. I had a leftover piece of cardboard sitting on my kitchen table and I’d decided to give it a try. I thought back to this little egret from Pálava, so I took the cardboard out and went back to the 2023 bird folder on my laptop. I hadn’t gone over it in a while.

As I leafed through the images, I could see it all. Sure, I saw the pictures, appreciated the quality of some, and remembered with fondness the circumstances of others. But I also felt what I felt when I took them: frustration, self-consciousness, restlessness. I didn’t feel these feelings nonstop all the time: the simple pleasure, the wild joy, the splendour were there too. Yet those weren’t enough to make up for my shortcomings. I was out to spot and photograph birds: that was the goal, so unless that goal was fulfilled, the meaning of the experience was diminished. I did not apply this ‘logic’ with intention. It just happened. In the long run, a unique sense of fear sneaked into the picture, so there were times when I’d be scared to take photos I would be dissatisfied with afterwards.

I hope the realisation of how toxic and unhealthy it was (and is in general) means I’ve built up a solid foundation of awareness. It must have seeped through drop by drop over time, till there was enough of it for me to notice. I’m not even sure how long it had sat there for before I did notice. There was no ‘flip the switch’ moment. I just looked at those egret photos and I saw it, like when you recognise something you already know. I could see the whole plot and how it had unfolded. These feelings haven’t disappeared altogether and I expect they never will. But now, when they resurface, I can understand where they’re coming from and what I should focus on to handle them. I know how to try and I hope it works.

I have genuine affection toward my birding beginner self. She tried hard and learnt a lot. I keep all of her very close to me, including all the photos she took on her walks, which are also mine. I still can and do expect a lot from myself, but I can also be a little gentle. I now know that a bird walk is no less of a bird walk if no birds are spotted and/or no bird photos are taken. It’s not a failure, and neither am I one. The simple pleasure of being outdoors, the wild joy of spotting birds, the splendour of nature: it’s all still there and it means everything.

I look at these photos with immense fondness. The thing they say, that there’s a story in every photo, is true. There’s a lot of mine in these.