The rewards of cognitive behavior therapy are beyond what I had expected. Along with medication to reduce the loud negative thoughts I allowed to play over and over in my mind, I now recognize many things I intentionally do to myself, believing they were unintentional.
Yesterday, I discovered more harbored nonsense.
I love all the outdoor critters I see while washing dishes. I grab my camera and shoot through my dirty windows, hoping to actually have something worthy of hanging on our walls—I seriously need to clean our windows.
Today, I’m sharing a photo of this little bird. One of my favorite birds, along with the cardinal.
Every time I see one, a little ditty runs through my mind. It actually originated from a song by Little Jimmy Dickens, written by Neal Merritt in 1965 (yes, Google information). The title, May the Bird of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose.
While the title of this song is a gem itself, and the lyrics just as lovely, being kids, we twisted everything to make it even more funny to our developing little minds. Sometimes our twisted lyrics were used as childish curses.
We took that hit Country song about the bird, and created this – May the Bluebird of Happiness Poop on Your Head. Real mean stuff. It was the curse of all curses.
I recall a time when I thought the worst insult after bickering with my friends down the street, was a threat to throw a rock at their fence. Oh, what satisfaction I achieved at the sound the rock made as it hit their white picket fence. Then it came, the curse…shouted after me as I ran to the safety of home.
That bluebird of happiness may have pooped on my head one too many times.
But, I don’t have to believe that any more—if I so choose.
The bluebird is beautiful to me, and it brings me happiness. I never fail to smile a little when I see one.
That curse, which helped form a lifetime of feeling worthless, no longer has power over me. It’s odd how childhood nonsense becomes intertwined with actual traumatic events, creating a struggling adult.
The little bluebird stayed outside our kitchen window for quite a while—long enough for me to track down my camera, realize I still had the lens cap still on, fiddle with the settings, and snap a shot.
Finally, it flew away, taking that dreadful childhood curse with it.
And I smiled.