The Buzzard at Window Height: Moving Without Forcing Direction

It doesn’t happen often.

I was driving along a familiar stretch of road when a buzzard lifted from the verge and flew alongside the car — not above, not behind, but level with the window. Close enough to see the detail in its wings. Close enough to feel the moment rather than think it.

Then, just as suddenly, it veered away and disappeared.

I drove on, but something in me stayed with it.

There’s a particular kind of movement that doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t announce itself or try to convince you it’s right. It simply happens — and if you’re paying attention, you feel the alignment rather than analyse it.

That’s different from urgency.

In my work as a psychotherapist, I see how often people confuse movement with pressure. They’ve learned that if they’re not actively pushing, they’re falling behind. That if things aren’t being driven forward, they’re at risk of stagnation or failure.

But not all movement comes from force.

The buzzard didn’t flap frantically. It didn’t strain. It used what was already there — lift, air, instinct. It moved because the conditions allowed it to.

Many people arrive in therapy exhausted from trying to manufacture direction. They’ve been making decisions from anxiety rather than alignment, mistaking momentum for safety. And when they finally slow enough to notice where their weight actually wants to go, it can feel strangely unfamiliar.

Trusting your direction isn’t about certainty. It’s about sensation.

Does this choice tighten you or steady you? Does it require constant effort, or does it feel supported once you begin? Do you feel more present moving this way, or more fragmented?

These are body questions, not thinking ones.

After long periods of holding back — whether through burnout, grief, or sheer necessity — movement returning can feel fragile. People worry they’ll get it wrong. That they’ll misread the signs. That one false step will undo everything.

But direction doesn’t need to be perfect to be true.

The work at this stage isn’t to map the whole route. It’s to notice when something carries you alongside rather than drags you forward. When movement feels possible without being punishing.

Like that buzzard, level with the window, you don’t need to cling to the moment or chase it down. You just need to recognise that something in you knows how to move when conditions are right.

And to trust that knowing, quietly.

If movement is returning but you’re wary of forcing it, pay attention to how your body responds rather than what your head demands. Direction often shows itself sideways first — close enough to feel, without needing to be captured.

— Sarah x