Oh, Deer

Woodland creatures (and other things) that once frightened me - until I sat with them.

I recently took myself on a quiet walk around a lake near my parents’ central New Jersey home. The path was rife with wildlife — a throng of goslings who gently waddled to the side as I passed by; a playful chipmunk that darted near my feet, before running into the thick of the woods; a heron, standing tall on a stone amid still water.

And, almost imperceptible from the main path, was a gently bubbling brook. This placid nook called to me — I pushed through intersecting tree branches to enjoy the even quieter, hidden moment on offer. It took a few seconds before I registered the three deer present on the other side of this hidden rivulet.

~

For context: I have found deer to be deeply unsettling for as long as I can remember.

Largely, it’s their gaze that disquiets me. Giant, shimmering, ink-black eyes that lock in on you, and follow as you go. (Also not lost on me, though, is the fact that they appear to be solely comprised of taut muscles and a desire to leap toward, rather than away from, humans. One deer could fuck up my one human life, and outrunning them is out of the question, regardless of the health habits I’ve cultivated of late.)

As such, my first impulse was to sprint in the other direction, declaring the deer as the winners of the water and leaving them to their day of staring and intermittent grazing. But something else in me said, “Face this. You are not in danger.”

~

I’ve spent a remarkable amount of time by myself these past few months. I’m now a fully remote worker whose son spent his July and August weekdays at summer camp, arriving at 8 a.m. and getting picked up just after 5 p.m. My ongoing musical hiatus sees my schedule temporarily free of rehearsals, performances and recording sessions.

In all that solitude, I’ve become good friends with silence. Silence, which I also used to fear for reasons that overlap (in their way) with my fear of deer. Silence forces lengthy, penetrating looks within that leave you feeling vulnerable, and susceptible to yet more hurt. And yes, what I found, when I finally sat with myself in that same unflinching way… were facts and realities that pained me deeply to look at head on.

But in those moments, I’d often remind myself: “Face this. You are not in danger.”

~

Fear is almost always about pain, and the avoidance of it.

Only, pain is a fact of life. Of late, I’ve increasingly chosen to let it be a teacher, rather than something to be avoided or frightened of. And I’ve learned much through this.

But then sometimes, you sit with that which you don’t understand, that which you cannot predict… you sit with the deep, ink-black gaze of silence… and find not hurt, but clarity. You simply begin to understand everything better. Yourself most of all.

Sometimes, after a long, walk through the heat, you find peace, and safety — like a softly bubbling stretch of water where deer roam.