Both Feet In: Navigating Relationships in a Flamingo World

There they stood, the mob of plastic long-legged brilliant pinkness scattered upon my neighbor’s lush green lawn, successfully assisting with the latest birthday proclamation. Each flamingo stood sturdy on a single leg ‒ well, except that one ‒ oh, wait, and the fallen one there (the best I can recall, the wind gusts were pretty strong that day). Anyway, you get the picture; most of the pink feathered replicas of graceful frolic remained tall and regal, one spindly lanky leg supporting total weight despite the forces of nature transpiring against them.

I’ve witnessed these mass gatherings of celebratory flamingos on countless occasions, and I would be willing to wager this neighbor keeps 1-800-FlamingoToGo on speed dial. Now, hold on; there is no judgment here. I have occasionally hosted a flash mob of stationary pastel flamboyance in my yard. However, this particular day was different, and realization struck as if a pink feathered dart of awareness had hit me. I, too, have engaged in flamingo-style behavior as if I were a card-carrying, popping-pink member of the webbed-foot flock. Chances are, you have as well.

Relax, don’t get your feathers all ruffled just yet. Allow me to explain.

Wait, I have a better idea.

Let’s ask a flamingo.