Both Feet In: Navigating Life in a Flamingo World

There they stood, once again delightfully scattered upon my neighbor’s lush, albeit somewhat artificially enhanced, green lawn; the gathering of fabricated, long-legged, brilliantly-pasteled flock members, successfully assisting with the “Newest Addition to the Family” proclamation. Balanced under the summer sun, each fiery flamingo stood sturdy on a single leg, each one a proud pink replication of feathered sun-kissed frolic and fun, poise, and play. In my previous book, Both Feet In: Navigating Relationships in a Flamingo World, I spoke of a life-awakening incident involving a similar mob of fake-feathered friends and a sole, pink-feathered dart of awareness making direct contact, resulting in a plumed dose of “AHA.” 

Staring at those ebony-beaked masters of balance many months ago, I became aware of my propensity to engage in flamingo-style, relationship-seeking behavior as if I were a cardholding, popping-pink member of the web-footed flock.  If you recall, a delightful, flamingo-led exploration of some correlating flamingo and human behavioral patterns ensued. Undoubtedly, each of us rightfully earned an honorary, pink-feathered flock member badge for completing that fun yet eye-opening literary adventure, and we made a new pastel-popping fine-feathered friend along the way.  

Anyway, I digress. It’s just that the pink, plastic, one-legged, perfectly-stoic, stationary flock-gathering, suddenly triggered the delightful memory. I refocused on the road ahead and gently released my foot off the brake pedal. I was eager to arrive home, change from work attire into comfy pink flamingo-dotted sweats, and relax with an umbrella-topped, refreshing, sugary, foo-foo beverage in hand. That was the plan until a flash of pink movement captured my side-eye attention. Okay, yes, it had been a long day at work. More precisely, it had been a tedious week of stressful days, and I was tired; however, there was no mistaking it. A pink imposter was precariously posing among this flock. Either that or I was in dire need of an updated eye exam. 

The noise from the sudden, not-so-gentle press on the brake pedal ‒ okay, I may have loudly slammed that black rectangular pad of stoppage ‒ resulted in a single, pink neck slowly lifting. Direct eye-to-side-eye-connection occurred, familiar recognition occurred, and pink flamingo panic set in. The excited feather ruffling sent wisps of pink flying plumes into the air. 

I was right! 

I could amuse you with details of the following fifteen minutes ‒ the car door opening then slamming shut, the ensuing chase among fabricated pink birds with human footfalls closing in on webbed steps, the backward neck-craning glances, and just as I felt the plumed pink sleek softness beneath my fingers, the successful lift-off, wings spread wide, spindly legs tucked in tightly, webbed feet dangling and beak pointing south ‒ but I won’t. 

I stood, greatly perplexed, surrounded by the mass of stoic, pink plastic replicas, and watched the pink blob disappear southward before thinking about scanning for any other lurkers among the now-suspicious flock. I do admit to wading through the fake flamboyance, gently touching each shiny head to ensure no other imposters remained, for I needed no additional surprises. My human blood-pumper could handle only so much. 

I want to think that I’m an intelligent member of the human species, so I knew better than to venture a guess as to the purpose of the pink-feathered flamingo’s undercover incognito mission, and I knew better than to assume that the behavior of humans was once again under examination. I knew better than to “assume” initially, but humans tend to do that anyway…and I’m human. Besides, it would be ridiculous to think that there could be any additional correlation between human behavior and that of a flamingo! 

Completely ridiculous. 

Right? 

Hmm, or is it? 

I ducked just in time for the pink-plumed-top dart of awareness to skim by instead of making direct contact. I had learned the fine art of neck-maneuvering during the last visit to the world of flamingos, and I was well aware that those darts may be fancy and pretty, but they’re also painful. Missed contact or not, once again, the delivery of stunning, eye-opening realization landed squarely on the intended target, resulting in a direct bullseye on my human brain. What had I been thinking? Could it be that I had engaged in one-legged balancing, energy-conserving, comfort-causing, change-resistant flamingoing behaviors, not only for relationship-seeking but possibly in other ways?