Buzzards

Driving home today, I saw the ubiquitous buzzards at a few roadkill sites. Have you ever wanted to be a buzzard? I doubt it.

Most people choose to relate to beautiful, powerful and graceful animals, and if they were forced to "be" a bird, they might be an eagle (strong, fearless, predator), a dove (symbol of peace and love) or maybe even an African paradise flycatcher (gorgeous colors, with a flowing ribbon of a tail). But I think I want to be like a buzzard. Cleaning up others' problems is not particularly thrilling for me, but I do want to be useful. Being big and black isn't my usual appearance goal (not that there's anything wrong with that, but being a middle-aged white woman directs my reality in other ways), but I'd rather be common and invisible than gaudy and ostentatious. Waiting for my meal or an opportunity to present itself to me goes against my grain, cuz I'd rather be in control and get what I want when I want; precisely why sometimes I need to slow down and appreciate what is being presented to me, right in front of my nose. The stigma of desiring death, decay, and the accompanying stench does not appeal to me, yet I always wanted to be a cop cuz I'm intrigued by blood and guts and the refuse of society.

Guess I've found my bird.  I want to be productive, useful, common, patient, and even interested in my current profession.  Plus, my grandfather strictly prohibited killing buzzards, because they do what no one else wants to do.  Not bad for job security.