Public Service Announcement

Whistler in the Window

Imet a golden whistler recently. Lovely chap. Some Australian birds are so audaciously colourful it seems like a design flaw in a world teeming with predators. Mr Whistler had a ridiculously yellow chest like someone had taken to him with a highlighter or he’d belly-flopped into a puddle of the paint they use for the yellow lines on the road. His partner, a lovely, soft, brown thing with watchful eyes and no apparent propensity for falling into paint of any colour, skipped about busily on the branch in front of where we were standing. We humans stood in that exaggerated hush that people sink into when in the presence of another species. Knees slightly bent. Hands to face. Maybe even deploying the shoosh finger, like people in a musical telling each other to be quiet so they can hear the cavalry approaching.

Where did we meet this charming couple? Why, right out the front of the house where we were staying. We adults had a bit of time off work, and we had intended, that day, to go on a bushwalking adventure. We were intending to, as they say, take the road less travelled.

Public Service Announcement: sometimes taking the road most travelled is fine too.

Sometimes it’s nice to go off and do something else. It’s bold and exciting and challenging to do your own thing, to break away from the pack, to forge a future nobody even thought to imagine. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to just have a cup of tea in the bath.

The road most travelled might seem dull and conformist, but we don’t always need to be striving. I cleaned behind the fridge the other day. This did not lead me to glory of any kind. Very satisfying though, and much more relaxing than all that striving business, which is admirable in its place but not required constantly.

It is possible to do both, of course. To go the road less travelled by day – changing the world forever, discovering new things or whatever – and then to travel a well-worn path once you’re done. I have a friend who travels the path less travelled by day – negotiating new terrain, overcoming unforeseen challenges – and when she gets home, she grabs an old, incredibly unchallenging book and reads it for the billionth time.

Reimagining the future and forging a new path is so admirable. It’s also exhausting. So, the well-trodden path of watching irredeemably bad television for hours should not be considered a waste of time, but fuel for the times when you need the strength to adventure through life bravely. If we want to extend the metaphor here, it’s like the two paths converge for a moment and you get to sit down and have a snack and a bit of a rest.

Looking out the window is a well-worn path. Each of us descends from a long line of people who have stared out of windows and done a bit of idle wondering. Noticed a leaf hanging from a spider web twiddling in the sun, or thought of something funny that happened years ago, or just lost themselves completely in the slowing down of time that tends to happen when window-staring.

Old friends are a well-worn path. You’ve tested each other’s boundaries; you know the main characters in each other’s lives and even some of the bit parts. Even the things you giggle at are familiar. The things you argue about are familiar. Maybe their handwriting reminds you of high school or their absent-minded humming drives you crazy. It’s a well-trodden path, but it’s a safe and lovely one, and can sometimes even surprise you.

There’s nothing wrong with ambition and creativity, or (to use a term from far too many annual reports) innovation, but the opposite of ambition (cruising familiar territory without purpose or intent) is not a betrayal of ambition. Because how can an adventurer change anything if they’re not familiar with the way things are?

We could have gone on a bushwalk. We probably would have seen wonderful things. Things we hadn’t expected to see. Things that changed our perspective on the world for even a short while. But we didn’t. We stayed in our pyjamas and looked out the window and met a golden whistler and his mate, and I can tell you something for nothing: if you think the whistlers look lovely, wait until you hear them sing.

Lorin Clarke is a Melbourne-based writer. The new series of her radio and podcast series, The Fitzroy Diaries, is on of her radio and podcast series, The Fitzroy Diaries, is on ABC Radio National and the ABC Listen app now.