Ryan the Gosling

You can't always get what you want

On the day that Miles died, I went out to Stephens Lake, where he and I had often walked. There, I was happy to see a nice little family of Canada geese on one end of the lake—two adults and five goslings. Then, later, I found a little gosling all by himself (we’ll call him Ryan), all the way over on the other side! Concerned, I stood there a long time, thinking about foxes and dogs (all of whom I love, but who themselves might love goose, and not in the good way). I considered what I could do. Take him home with me?

He seemed perfectly jaunty and plucky there, all by himself, eating bits of thing in the grass. But I wanted him to be in the safety of the family. Finally, he got in the water and began calling. But he turned the wrong way! Oh no! I could not help but watch and wait. I wanted a happy ending on that particular afternoon.

He turned. Ahh. He swam remarkably fast towards the far side of the lake, where the family was, calling the whole time in his tiny voice. Another woman, a total stranger and I followed, eagerly anticipating the joyful reunion. He got to the island! Hooray! His family were just on the other side of it, feeding. They were certainly close enough that they’d find each other. He messed about again, eating eating eating. They seemed to be oblivious of each other! What the . . . ? The total stranger tried to chase him to the other side (against my better judgment), but succeeded only in chasing him back into the water, where he swam the wrong way again. Ach!

Do you see how many times so far in this story I could have told myself, You can’t always get what you want?

Another total stranger commented that he’d seen the family spread out of late, so that seemed encouraging. I reluctantly left, hoping for the best. Ryan the Gosling would have to be okay.

The next day I went looking. Ryan was alone again (still?) on the island and the family was nowhere in sight. He again looked perfectly happy and self-sufficient, unbothered to be alone, although his little wings were only an inch long and he could not have even thought of flying if need be. Don’t you know there are enemies out here? I wanted to say. Where was the family? None of the children would be able to fly, so where were they?

Two days later and for two days in a row, I saw the family but not Ryan. Very disappointing. I spoke some harsh, judgmental words to the parents. Oh, quietly but I was stern. Perhaps he was still there, potting about among the reeds and plants by himself on the opposite side of the lake, jaunty as ever. Perhaps our little Ryan was simply a free-spirited fellow, a maverick, preferring to be unfettered by family life. I will never know, but I hope that is the case. I fervently hope no fox was involved. Unless it was the type of storybook fox who carried a cane and could speak and would befriend a little goose. But that did not seem likely.

So what is the moral of this story? Perhaps something pithy and deep about letting go of expectations? Or, instead, about keeping hope alive? Or possibly a celebration of courage? This might just have to be a Choose Your Own Moral story, for I am open to all of these. I hope that Ryan the Gosling is alive and well somewhere, plucky and stouthearted as ever. I choose to believe that he is. At the very least, he’s well shot of those irresponsible parents of his. I celebrate his courage! I believe in Ryan. Expectations are not always a bad thing. They can simply be a product of hope. And hope is always good.

“Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me . . . Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” - Shel Silverstein

“To wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect.” - Jane Austen

“Don't be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” - Rumi

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Thanks for listening,
Kay

P.S. MerryThoughts is the name of my first book, out of print at the moment. The word is a British one, referring both to a wishbone and to the ritual of breaking the wishbone with the intention of either having a wish granted or being the one who marries first, thus the "merry thoughts."