When a Bird Is Not a Bird

What is a bird, anyway? I mean, what precisely makes a bird a “bird?” How do they earn that label? Is it a set of anatomical characteristics that define the creature? How about the chemical composition? How about some other obscure set of genetic information? My littlest knows nothing of these things, yet he knows a bird when he sees one. He says so. “Bird!” Simple cognitive test.

Cognitive. I think that’s the right word. Or, better yet, “cognitive construct” is the right phrase. Yes, that is what a bird is: a cognitive construct. It is culturally influenced. The word that is used is based on the language of the speaker. There may be more than one word to choose from, and they are most often chosen based on context. The audience or listener can influence word choice. There are a myriad different variables that affect which word is applied to the sensory input we label as “bird.” And the input can be visual, auditory, tactile, or olfactory. For those inclined, it’s also gustatory. You put all those fancy cognitive thing-a-ma-bobs together, and you come up with “bird.”

And we do it in a fraction of a second, without thinking.

Instantly. Mindlessly.

That doesn’t sound like a way to live life, now does it? When most people put pencil to paper and draw a face, their brains instantly begin to call pre-determined shapes. It’s as if our mind’s eye already knows precisely how to put a face together based on shapes and arrangements from the past. So, often, something like a self-portrait comes out looking nothing like the artist. Why? Because we draw with our memories, not with our eyes. We draw what we think a face should be and not the face we are looking at in the moment. Daniel Pink explored this phenomenon at length in his book “A Whole New Brain.” Our inclination and almost uncontrollable need to label everything around us works in precisely the same way. Once we hear/see/smell/touch/taste something, we know precisely the cause of the stimulus.

Or so we think. How often are we wrong?

When I was recently walking in the woods, I heard a beautiful bird song. It was high-pitched and melodic. It was the type of song you could imagine coming from the throat of a gorgeous Blue Jay or a regal Cardinal. We heard the call often as we walked. Towards the end of the hike, I noticed the sound coming from somewhere close to the path and very low down. It was so close, I could zero in one the approximate location of the bird. I looked and looked and strained my eyes, looking for the blue and red colors of the birds I suspected were singing the song. So, of course, I totally missed the chipmunk that was less than three feet away from me.

A chipmunk…a chipmunk was making that sound.

So, what exactly is a bird if nothing more than the label I apply to a stimulus my brain has processed. If I can instantly and mindlessly attribute a chipmunk’s sound to a bird based solely on experience and NOT direct observation, then how many other times do I do that each day and miss out on something special or magical? How many times do I judge without assessing truth in the moment? These cognitive processes serve us, for sure, but there is something to be said for not becoming blind to the times in our lives when a bird is not a bird.