I have slowly and subconsciously made sure that images of owls surround me at all times. Whenever I need to set an image icon or site key, it is an owl. My favorite necklace is a small, delicate owl. The only painting of mine I like enough to display is an abstract owl hanging in my room. The list goes on and on.
My fascination with owls is almost entirely based on their fluffiness. Baby owls are so fluffy that I am almost entirely certain they grow out of cotton balls. Their five different types of feathers serve specific purposes, such as providing insulation and helping them in flight. These layers of feathers, which we perceive as comfortable and soft, serve as layers of protection from outside dangers.
I, too, use layers to protect myself at times. There is a direct correlation between my wearing of comfortable clothes and my disinterest in human interaction. I wear the most layers and the softest sweatshirts to escape from the outside world. When it gets to an extreme, I simply wrap myself up in a blanket and go into a brief hibernation.
Owls also have nocturnal eyesight that is far superior to that of their average prey. While I can get carried away in the details of their large-sized retinal image, I will spare you the boredom. Biology tells me that I don’t have the same abilities as an owl in this sense — humans don’t have remarkably large eyes in comparison to their skulls or the ability to swivel their heads 270 degrees.
I am strangely observant and aware of my surroundings. One time, I got incredibly lost in a market in Ecuador but was able to find my way back through the maze based on where the chicken stand was in relation to the boy selling “Adidas” sneakers. Recently, my heightened awareness has made me cognizant of many things I would rather not know about, for example, the horrible smell at the end of 15th Street or the piece of pizza that has been lying in the hallway of my apartment building for more than a week now.
When my owl senses kick in and force me to see things worse old pizza, I simply retreat into my aforementioned state of hibernation. I am now at the point when I need to come to terms with the hard truth that a blanket is not a sufficient shield from the things I don’t want to face.
An owl’s feathers — and my blanket — provide warmth, but they offer protection from little more than a cold wind. With my classes this semester heavily focused on international conflicts, my sensitivity to upsetting topics is heightened. Hiding under a blanket will not make reading about the state of the Middle East or Apartheid in South Africa any happier.
I may not be able to right these wrongs, but I can face some of my own personal battles by getting out from under the covers. I can be much more proactive if I don’t hide under my blankets — my owl feathers — and ignore them.
Avery’s column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at a.moyler@cavalierdaily.com.
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