I didn’t expect to learn anything from hummingbirds.
They’re fast. Always in motion. Little blurs of color darting through the yard. But the more I watched them, the more I noticed something: I wasn’t just seeing hummingbirds.
I was starting to see myself.
The First Time I Noticed
It began with a single bird hovering by the feeder. I paused what I was doing, just for a moment, to watch.
And then I realized—I couldn’t remember the last time I had just watched anything without multitasking, checking my phone, or thinking about the next thing on my to-do list.
They Moved Fast — But Made Me Slow Down
Ironically, these high-speed birds became the reason I started slowing down. I didn’t want to miss them, so I started sitting still. I brought my coffee outside in the morning. I stayed longer in the evenings. I started to breathe more deeply.
Their visits became moments of quiet. Of stillness. Of presence.
I Learned to Pay Attention
I noticed things I used to overlook:
The sound of wings before I saw them
The way flowers turned to face the sun
The pause between wingbeats when they hovered
These weren’t just observations—they were invitations to live slower, to look closer, to be where I was.
They Taught Me That Small Moments Matter
The visits are fleeting. Sometimes just a second or two. But each one feels like a gift. A tiny, shimmering reminder to be fully here.
I don’t always get it right. I still rush, scroll, worry. But the hummingbirds keep showing up. And they keep teaching me how to stop, how to see, how to savor.
I thought I was putting out a feeder for them. But maybe, in some small way, they were showing up for me too.
And if you let them, they might do the same for you.
