Bunnies, Burrows, and the Power of "Yes. And..."

My living room couch sits in front of a big picture window. Through the fabric of my gauzy white translucent curtains I can see people walking their dogs, moms pushing strollers, dads walking hand in hand with their pre-schoolers, and animals busying themselves in my yard as if to say, "I like what you've done with the place, but we're just going to have to make these few key changes. The current layout just isn't quite working for us." This morning I watched a bunny preparing a nest in a hole she had made in my yard. My son and I watched from the couch as she pulled up blades of grass and carried them in neat little mouth-bundles back to the nest. Each time someone walked past she would look up like and act all nonchalant for a second before digging back in to her project.

I know that some of my neighbors go all Mr. MacGregor on the chipmunks, squirrels, and bunnies in their yards. They don’t want their lawn damaged, or property value diminished. Yes, and as I watched my lawn bunny undertake her work I felt happy that my yard was making space for another little home—a safe space for new life. My daughter recently attended the Science Fiction convention with her dad. One of the talks was on a genre of science fiction called “solar punk.” These stories are set in a future world in which solar power is the norm, and the architecture is adapted to the natural environment. Glass buildings curve and spiral around trees and plants. Vertical gardens punctuate the skyline. All transportation is underground, leaving city streets for foot and bike traffic only. As I enjoyed watching the bunny carve out a hole for her babies, I realized that I would rather have a hole in my lawn full of baby bunnies than a flawless yard with no room for the creatures who inhabited it in the first place. Yes, I’m a bleeding heart of the first order, and I don’t see that as a bad thing.

            Perspective can change everything. From a homeowner’s point of view, my lawn bunny is committing yard destruction. From the bunny’s perspective it’s simply undertaking home construction. As I sat next to my son on the couch watching him marveling at the bunny (instead of his video games) I realized that our relationships are all a matter of perspective. We think we know what our roles are, and we act accordingly. When our child screams at us we might think it’s disrespect. When our spouse or partner needs time alone we might take it personally. When our friendships change, we might assume we did something wrong, or that they don’t care enough. When our community changes, we might feel like it’s sad that it’s not the way it used to be.

            What if we shifted our perspective and stepped into another’s shoes for a moment? What if we said "yes" to our perspective, but then added "and" and considered the other's perspective. When our child screams, yes, it might be disrespectful, and they want attention and connection and don’t know how to ask for it. When our spouse or partner needs time alone, yes, we feel disconnected from them, and they might feel overwhelmed and need some space to process that. When our friendships change, yes, we're hurt that she or he isn't calling, and he or she may be facing a lot of difficult challenges and doesn't quite know how to be honest with themselves, much less be authentic with their friends. When our community changes, yes, we miss the comfort of the old ways, and new things are emerging.

            We are creatures of habit. We want to feel secure, certain, and comfortable. We like to think that we can figure things out then proceed accordingly. After all, we didn’t spend money and time manicuring a perfect lawn, raising kids, nurturing relationships, and investing in our community for nothing! Sometimes, though, what looks like destruction from one point of view is really construction from another. Sometimes it’s hard to make space for a new perspective, a new way of relating, or a new way of showing up in our community. Sometimes what feels like an intrusion or inconvenience is actually an invitation to share ourselves, and our spaces, in new and potentially life-giving ways. Sometimes, instead of reacting to a “problem” right away, we can take a moment to shift our perspective, see things from another angle, and allow space for a new way. Sometimes, as students of improvisation will tell you, it’s amazing what can be created when we are willing to set aside our scripts and expectations and simply say, “Yes. And…”