The inner thoughts of seagulls

The other night, I had a lovely time on zoom. 

It sounds like an oxymoron, but it’s not.  I had a pleasant experience while using the technology.  I spent an hour talking with an old friend from university called Will, and I did not loathe every second.

Will and I studied history together at Warwick in the early 90s.  We sat next to one another in a particularly frightening seminar with a professor who did not care for undergraduates.  Professor Smyth wasn’t nurturing or helpful and would often sigh when we tried to answer his questions.  He seemed shocked that some of us had little to say, and he had no sympathy with those of us who hadn’t found our campus legs yet.  Professor Smyth terrified me, and Will and I would support one another before, during and after the seminars.

Will and I were both shy and quiet.  We were 18 and from Wales.  It was a shock to be away from home.

For the first decade after university, Will and I sent letters and postcards to one another from wherever we were.  We nearly met up in Prague and Australia and missed one another several times in London; but we stayed in touch.  We kept each other up-to-date with the news and gossip.  Eventually, we moved over to emails, but as Will is one of those rarest of creatures: one who does not use social media, I hadn’t seen him for the bulk of 30 years until the other night.

So the other night, when we first saw our faces and hair on Zoom, all we could do was laugh.  And straight away, there was the ease and familiarity of someone you know well.  As I sat there on my bedroom floor, with the lights turned down and no sound from the building, I wondered about how young we once were and enjoyed all those nostalgic bitter-sweet regrets, you indulge from time to time.

I’ve been such a reluctant Luddite of late, so it was good for me to have an enjoyable experience of using Zoom.  I just feel like there’s too much technology now, and it’s all doing exactly the same thing.  At my latest count, you can leave messages for me on Slack, Basecamp, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Zoom, Teams, WhatsApp, Viber, Salesforce Chatter, WordPress and through four email addresses.    

Sweet Mother of Holy God!   

Each app requires a different browser to support it, and yet it looks so like the next one.  My mobile phone can’t manage all this traffic and I need to buy a new one, even though it makes and receives perfectly good phone calls. There was a time, about five years ago, when I was the only person in Dublin without a smartphone.  Finally, I relented and bought one, but the fact that I now need to buy a new one, just to keep up with software, makes me very cross.  I finally understand my father, who never truly recovered from the fact that we all moved on from Betamax videos, and I wish things would stay the same or at least, slow down from changing. 

What messages are we sending to one another all day in 18 different places?

Hi, this is Ruth and I’m out of the office until the 13^th.  Please send your enquiry to my colleague Sonia, who will ignore it, because she’s completely overwhelmed with too many messages, as it is.  In these times, more than everer, thank you for your patience (s).

I think we should all go back to corresponding with paper, ink and stamps.  This would be better for the environment, better for our mental health and better for me as an individual.  Then I could spend less time online and more in the old fashioned, physical world. 

Not that the physical world comes without its challenges.

I had a very surprising moment yesterday, in St Stephen’s Green that I would like to share.

I was walking around the park anticlockwise, when I noticed a little girl was getting a lot of unwanted attention from a seagull, who was interested in her ice cream.  The gull hovered around the little girl, but then flew away onto other things.

As I overtook the girl on the outside, the seagull swooped down, to steal the ice cream from the little girl’s hand.  The seagull’s left wing was stopped in mid-air by my head, which was unfortunately straight in the flight path.  I could feel the weight and strength of the gull on me, and I needed to put my arms out to keep my balance.  For a moment, I looked straight into the gull’s little yellow eyes, and I was frightened, and I heard myself say “help”.

For three seconds, I could feel the entire warmth of the gull’s underwing on my forehead, and it felt like satin and silk.  The oddness of losing my balance and not being sure of what was happening, was outweighed by the silence under the plumage.  The smoothness of the bird was natural and comforting, and I turned my head into him further.

I think I could feel his heart beating.

Eventually, the seagull regained power over its own movement, and he detached himself from my head, and flew away.  The little girl looked surprised and at least two people near the bench were taking photos.  I felt shocked and embarrassed, but also strangely comforted from the connection, and the whole thing made me smile.

Did the seagull want the snack, or just to make contact?

Perhaps the seagull wanted to know what a human head felt like?

Who’s to know?

Sometimes when I think of Warwick it feels like a few summers ago.  When I then remember it was nearly 30 years ago, I feel disorientated.  It feels like a different person went there, one I recognise, but hardly know.  I can remember so many details of campus life, and the people and the long days.  Especially, I remember sitting on the grass under the trees, discussing life, love and everything.  Just like the other night, but this time on my bedroom floor, with the lights turned down low, drinking warm tea after a long day, and so happy to discuss once again, life, love and everything.