Monday, April 25, 2022

Attenborougholics Anonymous


Hi, I’m Sarah, and I’m an Attenborougholic.

I’ll be honest, it hasn’t been that long since I watched my last David Attenborough documentary. In fact I watched one last night. The primates episode of Life, you know the one where the orangutan mother teaches her baby how to build nests and it’s raining and the baby holds a giant leaf above its head like an umbrella and it’s so tender it makes you want to cry? Oh, I’m supposed to avoid triggers. Sorry. Anyway.

It wasn’t even my idea to come here tonight. My friends basically staged an intervention. They said I “don’t hang out with real people anymore” and they’re “tired of my fake British accent.” I keep telling them my The Life Collection box set isn’t on a shrine, it’s just on a special table next to some candles and a picture of a gorilla that also happens to have Sir David in it, ok?

I honestly don’t see a problem. It’s not like David Attenborough documentaries are disrupting my life. Well, ok, so maybe I’ve forgotten what day it is a couple or several times, but isn’t that everybody during a pandemic? And maybe my student ratings are on the decline, but come on, am I really supposed to care about grading freshman composition papers when a newly hatched marine iguana is making a death-defying escape from a waiting hoard of coiling, writhing, racer snakes?

All I’m saying is that there’s an Attenborough for every occasion. Scared about a job interview? Put on The Hunt. Summer heat wave? Cool off with Frozen Planet. Trying to restore your circadian rhythms? Fall asleep to the dulcet sounds of Sir David narrating Blue Planet.

Look, it’s just a tough world we live in, you all know that. It’s a trash-fire. But when I’m on the couch with my cat Atty and Planet Earth is playing, that part where moonlit bats skim for fish in slow motion like a ballet, I forget about the trash-fire parts for a while.

I admit, when it was announced that all the BBC Earth series would be leaving Netflix… those were dark days. Some real lows. I don’t think I lasted even a full day before blowing half my paycheck to buy the lot on Amazon Prime. But now they’re mine for good, downloaded on my phone, my iPad, and my laptop. What, like I’m gonna pause three cheetah brothers working in perfect synchronicity to hunt down an ostrich, just because I have to pee?

I’ve never told anyone this (and I can’t believe I’m announcing it to you all now) but I’ve even found myself playing Miracle on 34th Street in the middle of June just because Richard (rest in peace, #ibelieveinsanta) sounds a lot like his brother.

Maybe I have a slight problem. Heaven knows, Sir David’s been a blessing and a curse during this pandemic. I must’ve watched Africa fifty times since we all went into quarantine, the perfect escape, but my anxiety over David’s health and well-being has skyrocketed. Since he got the vaccine I’ve finally started sleeping again.

But what you’re asking me to do is take an impossible plunge, a leap off the edge of a four-hundred foot cliff like the barnacle goslings at the beginning of Life Story. It’s like, without those birds, who am I, you know? Just a girl who’s never been to Greenland? My friends say I could go to Greenland if I “did my job” and “participated in the world instead of just watching David Attenborough narrate it,” but how am I supposed to know where to look without him telling me?

What if—God forbid—we lose him before they make Planet Earth III?

I’ve gone on too long, now, but that reminds me. Those of you from the Steve Irwin GriefShare group—I recognize a few faces—I’ll see you tomorrow.

Thank you for listening.    

 

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...