There's only one thing left on my bucket list and it feels impossible

(It's making friends with a crow)

I named this Substack “The Fare Well Files” intending it to be an exploration of what it means to “fare well” in this life, especially after my “farewell” from law.¹ I’d say that theme is mostly honored in the breach. But faring well is on the menu today, because I want to talk about something I see as central to a life well-lived. It might even be both necessary and sufficient. That is, of course, that at some point in life, one needs to make friends with a crow.

the American Crow

It’s time for some crow facts

A lot has happened in the last few years of my life: I’ve quit my career as a high-powered lawyer, moved across the country multiple times, and even had three beautiful children. But when I look back on it, there is really only one thing that has truly defined this era of my life: Namely, a slow, passive accumulation of information about crows.

The first fun fact I heard about crows is that they drop walnuts into traffic to get passing cars to crack their shells for them. I didn’t think much of it; it was just another random animal fun fact, like how otters sleep holding hands or how octopuses² issue each other parking citations.

But then I started running into more crow facts. Like, unusually often. And some of them were really pretty cool. For instance, a crow’s brain-weight-to-body ratio is the same as—wait for it—a human’s. Think about that. Our brains are so comically oversized that we have to be born before we’re fully cooked. That’s why it takes us a year to walk, as opposed to the five minutes it takes a wildebeest. Because if our babies gestated until they could almost walk, their heads would be so huge that, during childbirth, their mothers would—to use the medical term—explode.³

These big-brain crows turn out to be some of the smartest animals in the world. Like, top ten, right up there with chimps, dogs, and dolphins. That’s crazy. You expect Charismatic Megafauna to be smart; a literal “bird brain,” not so much.

Then I heard my favorite crow fact of them all: they can hold grudges. And not just normal grudges—community grudges. Generational grudges. In a study that sounds like it was designed by a team of delinquent thirteen-year-old boys, scientists put on various masks and harassed a group of these fine birds. They found that the crows would squawk and even dive bomb anyone wearing the mask that originally antagonized them, while remaining indifferent to “neutral masks” (which, of course, included a mask of highly neutral public figure Dick Cheney). These crows remembered these masks for years. And amazingly, they somehow taught their chicks to resent these people as well! (I need to stress again that the crows did not hate Dick Cheney, who—naturally—remained neutral.)

When I heard that, I knew: I needed to make friends with a crow. Who wouldn’t want a catty crow ally who can remember all your enemies and do their crow business on their windshields? (I know the term “perfect crime” gets thrown around a lot, but I’ve never heard of a better one.) I want a friend who teaches their children to dive bomb and caw derisively at those who have wronged me. And since none of you people seem willing to do that for me, then I guess a crow is going to have to do.

This is currently my only solid life goal

Look, “befriend a crow” isn’t really my only life goal. Probably. Or maybe it is. The thing about it is, it’s the only one I’m really sure about these days.

I used to have a long list of goals. Like, really long. Ten plus years ago, mom told me about an exercise where you write down one hundred different goals as a way to find more direction and be more agentic. I think it’s supposed to be a challenging exercise, but when I did it, I found it to be pretty easy. I can’t remember if I made it all the way to one hundred, but I think I rattled eighty or so off with little trouble.

And I was genuinely excited about all of them. Learn Mandarin? Sounds amazing. Run a marathon? Absolutely! Publish a novel? Goes without saying.

I immediately started steadily working my way through these goals. I didn’t even really have to consult the list, in fact. I’m the type of person who, if left to my own devices, will immediately launch multiple parallel campaigns all directed at a different BHAG that is constantly humming in the back of my mind.

And a decade and change ago, I was indeed left to my own devices. I was single, I was a student, and I had no other purpose than personal achievement. And I knocked a bunch of them out. I did run that marathon. I did get into a top law school. I did get proficient at jazz guitar. Life was good.

Then, when I met my wife and started a family, life got a whole lot better.

Just…not for my goals. My life got extremely worse, as far as my goals were concerned. Because suddenly I was most definitely not left to my own devices. Especially when my kids hit the scene. Because kids, bless their hearts, are insatiable little bandwidth eaters. Your Selfish Time goes way down with a kid in the picture. And unfortunately, that’s what most of my goals were: selfish. Nobody needed me to learn Mandarin. What they needed was another bite of applesauce spooned down their gullet, and pronto.

In the wake of having three bandwidth monsters children, I find myself with a new perspective on my goals. I haven’t given up on goals entirely, because my internal sheepdog would maul me to death.

They say inside you are two wolves. But not me. I just have a sheepdog.

But I am a lot more aware of the costs attached to the various bullets on my bucket list. And I’m a lot more careful in how I spend my bandwidth, which has become an even more rare and precious commodity than ever. So I’ve crossed off a lot of goals—not because I’ve conquered them, but because I’m consciously uncoupling with them. Some are too time-consuming. Some are too frivolous. Some would just distract me from the things that really matter.

So out of almost one hundred, what’s left? The truth is, I’m not really sure anymore. But at the very least, before I die, I will make friends with a crow.

So how’s that going?

It’s…not going great. And not for lack of trying, believe me. Actually, don’t believe me. Just watch this video my brother-in-law took.

This happened around New Year 2023 when I was visiting home in Utah for the holidays. I was on my way back from getting Korean barbecue with my sisters, their husbands, and my dad. Arriving at my parents’ house, we saw that it was surrounded by a large flock of crows—less a “murder” and more an “act of public terrorism.”

This had never happened to me before. I knew it was my chance, and I was going to seize it. So I did what I always do when I see crows in my yard: I ran in to procure an Offering of Nuts.

As you can see in the video, I’m patient. I’m charming. I’m holding loose cashews from WinCo. And yet no crow takes the bait. I tried holding the nuts, tossing them crow-ward, leaving them in a pile—but I was met only with apathy and mistrust.

the closest I’ve come

This is how it always goes. I’ve had a lot of chances, too. I’ve never seen a flock that big again, but here in Baltimore, these jet black birds abound. In fact, we have a whole sports team named after them: the Orioles.

Just kidding! I’m referring to the Ravens. (Ravens is another word for crow. Also, if that isn’t true, I don’t care.) But I genuinely feel like it would be easier to find a linebacker from the Ravens and convince him⁴ to accept my offering of cashews than it has been to win over these corvids. How can I earn a reputation as Giver of Nuts if they fly away every time I offer them? I can’t figure it out.

An earnest and poetic reflection about the deeper themes of this whole thing

This experience really made me reflect on the nature of goals. You see, sometimes our goals fly away when we chase them. Sometimes, we—

No, you know what, forget that! I’m not trying to make a broader metaphor. I just literally want to make friends with a crow!

I know it’s possible. Look at these videos. These beautiful birds bring their human buddies awesome gifts, like twist ties and garbage and sometimes even money. But I can’t seem to earn their trust. Do I need to wear a Dick Cheney mask? Or are they Democrats? If so, would a Kamala mask work? Or are they Bernie Bros? I have no political conviction so strong that I wouldn’t abandon it to woo a crow.

As frustrating as it has been, I’m not going to give up. I’m going to keep watching for dark-feathered visitors in my backyard. I’m going to keep putting nuts—an expensive gift, mind you—on leaves and cawing,⁵ in full view of my neighbors. And I’m going to keep not really researching how to make friends with a crow, because it feels like it just shouldn’t be that hard.

For all of the goals I’ve crossed off my bucket list, “befriend a crow” is one I just can’t part with. It’s hard to say exactly why. Maybe I’m a nascent birder. I did fall hard for a pair of cardinals⁶ that visited my bird feeder when I lived in Virginia. Or maybe it’s just that I love animals in general. Since starting this Substack, I’ve been a little bemused to realize that they seem to come up in my writing a lot.

Or maybe it’s that I have no reservations about trying to befriend a crow. As goals go, it’s got a unique mixture of qualities. It’s difficult enough to be rewarding. It’s comfy—there’s no temptation to turn it into a hustle. (Unless any of you know a way to become rich or famous by becoming friends with a crow, in which case: I’m absolutely in.) It’s flexible: I don’t need to quit being a full-time parent or move to LA; I just need to keep my pantry well-stocked with nuts (RIP our food budget) and keep my ear out for caws.

Best of all, this goal doesn’t ask for much bandwidth. Instead of my time, it asks only for my patience. And as a parent, that’s one muscle that has become awfully strong. And unlike most of my goals, which take me away from my kids, this is one I can do with them. Yesterday, we put together a little crow smorgasbord (kid-chopped carrots, raisins, almond slices, and pretzel sticks) and put it out on a little tupperware on our patio. And guess what happened?

As exciting as it was to watch that crow take that bite, it was even better to watch my kids watch it.

I like the idea that, through genuine interest, quiet persistence, and earnest gift-giving, I could win the trust of a beautiful and oft-overlooked creature in God’s kingdom. It’s something worth chipping away at, however long it takes. My Substack or music projects might never blow up. But if I keep putting nuts on a leaf, maybe a crow will someday tell her chicks, “See that man and his little ones? Remember them, for they are our friends.”

1. That’s two entendres, for anyone keeping track at home.

2. True pedants know that octopi is actually incorrect, as it is based on an erroneous application of Latin pluralization rules to a Greek root. Look it up! (Also I don’t care how pedantic you are, “octopodes” isn’t happening.)

3. Having a hard time tracking down my source for this but you can trust me.

4. Or her!

5. There’s a 50/50 chance that this is deeply offensive to them. I’ll take those odds.

6. Their names were Roger and Evelyn, in case you’re wondering. Here’s a video I made about it when I was just starting out on YouTube.