The first time I saw a hummingbird, I thought it was a bug.
I was in Palm Springs, California, staying at a luxury resort with my then-boyfriend. We were two city kids, and neither of us was sure what we were looking at as these tiny creatures hovered near the bushes and flowers, chirping and buzzing. We were convinced they were some kind of large West Coast insect.
The next time I saw one was more than 20 years later, on the deck of my new apartment in Gaithersburg, Maryland.
It was early spring, at the beginning of the pandemic. The world felt fragile. Every day, the news showed the horrific, rapidly rising death count, stories of businesses closing, and of people trying to figure out how to work, shop, parent, grieve, stay healthy, or just make it through the day. Fear and stress seemed to permeate nearly every conversation I had.
I felt exhausted by it all.
Still relatively new to Maryland, I was trying hard to establish a life and build the kind of community I had left behind in New York. I fell in with a new friend group and started a relationship. Neither ever quite felt authentic or safe. Looking for connection, I ignored more red flags than I normally would. Around the same time, a job I had hoped would feel creative and meaningful turned out to be neither. I was searching for belonging and stability in almost every corner of my life.
So, when the company announced we were being furloughed, and the friendships and relationship fell apart a few months later, I was scared about losing my income and sad about what the relationships had revealed. But beneath both disappointments was an unexpected relief. I could finally admit that neither had been right for me.
The forced pause of the worldwide shutdown gave me room to regroup, rethink what mattered, and imagine other options for myself. I did not know what would come next, but I knew I wanted to choose more carefully going forward.
During that time, I leaned heavily into my daily practice of starting the day slowly, with a cup of coffee and my journal. I always took a few minutes to settle myself before heading out to work. But now, unemployed, I could throw on my hoodie and enjoy as much of the cool spring mornings as I wanted, for as long as I wanted. I had nothing to do but write and think.
One morning, I heard an unfamiliar sound above me. When I looked up, a small green hummingbird was hovering near a flower box I had filled with white and pink petunias.
Petunias have always been one of my favorite flowers. Their scent reminds me of summers growing up in upstate New York and sitting on my grandmother’s porch. We would spend hours there, taking refuge from the afternoon heat, talking, sipping lemonade, and rocking back and forth on her porch swing glider.
I was so startled by seeing the little bird that I gasped out loud and scared it away.
Moved by encountering something that felt so magical and unexpected, I immediately reached for my phone and Googled: What does it mean to see a hummingbird?
I found that hummingbirds carry meaning in many indigenous traditions, with associations of joy, healing, resilience, life force, and renewal. As someone with Native heritage, I felt especially moved by that connection. They fly south to warmer climates in the winter and often return to the same place each year.
With so much death and uncertainty around me, I decided to believe it all to be true. I needed a reminder that life was still moving, even though I could not see where it was headed; none of us could.
A few years later, when I moved to a home with a deck large enough for the container garden I had always dreamed of, I began planting with hummingbirds in mind. I filled hanging baskets with petunias and impatiens along the railing, and hung a small red feeder filled with the sugar water they like and waited.
It was only a matter of days before they appeared.
And they have returned every year since.
There is something almost miraculous about these tiny little birds. They hover in midair, move backward and forward, and seem to appear and disappear in a flash. I read somewhere that Ruby-throated hummingbirds beat their wings about 53 times a second as they hover. No wonder their movement feels almost impossible to fully take in.
Whenever I see one now, I think back to those early days of the pandemic, when so much felt unclear and uncertain. In many ways, life today still carries that same unsettled feeling. The details have changed, but the questions remain familiar: What can we count on? How do we keep going when the future feels hard to picture? How do we stay rooted when the world around us keeps shifting and some days feel unreal?
There are seasons when we simply do not know what will happen next. But the hummingbirds remind me that I do not need to know everything to keep moving forward.
So much has changed in my life in the five or six years since the pandemic began. Like the hummingbirds returning to the flowers and feeders they know each spring, what hasn’t changed is that each morning, I return to simple, small practices that ground me: my coffee, my journal, and a few minutes of quiet before the day begins.
The practice does not make uncertainty disappear. It does, however, give me a sense of peace and a place I know I can return to no matter what is happening in the rest of my life, reminding me of who I am beneath life’s noise. A reminder that I have made it through uncertain seasons before and a quiet confidence that, however life unfolds, I will be able to meet it.
Perhaps finding peace is not about finding certainty after all. Perhaps it is the practice of knowing where to return when certainty is out of reach.
A Few Quiet Questions
- What practice helps you return to yourself when life feels uncertain?
- What small forms of care help you feel grounded and in touch with who you are?
- What might change if you gave yourself five quiet minutes before beginning your day to check in with yourself and what you need?
At Kellie Box Company, we believe peace is a practice, and that it begins with the small ways we return to ourselves. A few quiet minutes with a journal, a cup of coffee or tea, or some other simple ritual of care can help us feel more calm and steady in our day, especially in times of great change and uncertainty.
Our thoughtfully curated comforts, including journals, mugs, tea, and our signature Quiet Time Box, are created to support quiet, stillness, joy, and care for yourself or someone you care for. Visit our store here.
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