Chatter Gulls

“Get out of here! Go on! Shoo!” It was an all too familiar scene every…single…time…we prepared our lunch on the beach at St. George Island State Park in Florida. My mom would periodically take us there for the day. I never failed to see swarms of seagulls hovering overhead anytime people had food, because the gulls had been conditioned to people feeding them—even though it was prohibited.

Many times, other visitors to the park would think it cute and entertaining for their kids to toss a seagull a morsel of whatever they were snacking on and said gull would swoop down and catch the food before it had a chance to hit the ground. It didn’t take long for the other gulls to notice and soon it was a frenzy of activity around this new source of food. It was as if the birds were panhandling for another tasty bite from anyone willing to oblige them. Even those of us who did not extend the offer. They would still linger and land, hopping around in the sand or on the boardwalk nearby with the hope that more food would be given to them. It was annoying to say the least, especially for us native Floridians that were wise to their tactics and attempted to ignore them.

Recently, I had a similar experience that reminded me of those seagulls at St. George, but this time it made me chortle. I hope it does the same for you.

I am an avid, perennial lap swimmer. I bought the house I currently live in because I was two blocks from the lap pool. I try to swim at least 3 times a week at a minimum. It is challenging at times to fit it in, but I work hard to make it a priority. I do not have a lot of free time with my other responsibilities and commitments, so I typically have about 60 minutes a session (give or take 20 minutes) to get my swimming completed each time I go.

I have often discovered that folks will see me and want to chat with me when I am at the pool—going in or coming out. I am a nice person, and I generally love talking with people. On several occasions, I oblige the conversation, but lately I am beginning to feel like my kindness extended has encouraged “chatter gulls” to begin noticing me and seeking me out at the pool.

My kind gesture or light-hearted response somehow turns into a 15-minute conversation. I find it quite challenging to exit the conversation without coming off as gruff. I equally wrestle with the thought of perhaps being selfish to guard this time to unplug and “find the quiet center in the crowded life I lead.”1

These “chatter gulls” are mostly retirees who have nothing but time on their hands. To them, it is recreational and social activity, but to me swimming is entirely different. It is sacred time when I get to swim. When I swim, I can unplug from the many tentacles of connection and tech that interrupt me. It is a chance for me to focus, reflect, pray, process, and just enjoy being present in doing an activity that I enjoy and is also good for me. It is so peaceful and quiet in the water. It is a time of self-care, and it does so much for me physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. I look forward to that time and try my darndest to ensure it is taken to the fullest advantage. It makes me better in all aspects of my existence.

Having worked out in the gym and even employed at a health club in college, I can recall the retirees who came daily to work out their mouths more than anything else. To them, it was a social event. Now, there is not anything wrong with that approach, but when someone disregards another and encumbers his or her focus on achieving of a goal within an allotted time, it becomes somewhat of a nuisance. I always approach each interaction with humble dependence on God to guide me to ensure my heart is in the right place and that I do not miss a Divine interruption that needs to occur. Quite often, it is simply a “chatter gull” looking for conversation crumbs. Maybe they are lonely, maybe they need to talk, but I say let’s schedule a time to do this—not at the pool.

This illustration has helped me frame the interactions with a sense of humor to help me stay sane and cordial—even though it bugs the heck out of me. "Lord, please help me be the way You want me to be."

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1 Shirley Erena Murray, Come and Find the Quiet Center (Chicago: Hope Publishing Company, 1992), italics mine.