The Swimming Fawn

A Lesson in Self-Compassion

Having just packed up camp on the beach-strewn shores of the Northumberland Strait one morning in early July, we were heading home along a curving rural road that tightly hugged Nova Scotia’s north shore. The route, dotted with the occasional cluster of cottages, was thickly crowded in on all sides by sweet smelling wild roses and thriving alder bushes. Suddenly, a deer appeared in my path. I slowed down but didn’t fully stop, relieved when the doe cleared the road without incident. Just as I was letting the relief sink in from avoiding an accident, the doe’s fawn emerged from the thicket, striking the front end of my Volkswagen Golf with a thud, before running off into the brush on the other side of the road. When I got out to survey the damage to my car, it was extensive enough to know the collision most certainly would have been fatal for such a fragile creature.

You must know this feeling: when something bad happens in your life, for which you feel responsible, and you replay the scenario over and over as if you can change the outcome somehow? I felt sad and regretful every time I thought about the spindly speckled fawn and the motherly doe. I frequently imagined the tragic aftermath that took place in the bushes beyond my line of sight. I wished so badly I could press "rewind" on the scene and have come to a full stop after seeing the doe, or have moved forward more slowly, or have taken a different route back to the highway that morning. Alas, we cannot change the past but only take what we have learned and apply to the future. Practically speaking, I know now that when a single deer crosses my path, it is wise to expect others to follow. Indeed, this has proven to be true many times since!

Later that summer, on the opposite shore of Nova Scotia, we were travelling a similarly winding coastal route, also thickly lined by flowering bushes and lush greenery. I thought about the fawn once again, as I frequently had while driving that summer, and once again I replayed that morning’s events in my head, with another futile attempt to change the immutable outcome. You may be thinking: it was just a fawn; sh#t happens; it wasn’t your fault. I knew all these things, yet the sadness surrounding the fawn pervaded my mind throughout July and August of that year. At times, these thoughts interrupted even the most beautiful landscapes I travelled through during those halcyon weeks of summer that are so sublime and fleeting on Canada’s East Coast.?

We landed on a new-to-us beach that late August day, aptly named Beach Meadows, to a hazy afternoon that was absolutely windless and unseasonably hot. The flat wide beach stretched out before us, the day buzzing with insects, the water glazed like a mirror, refreshing–but surprisingly warm–for Nova Scotia’s south shore. The horseflies were biting though, so we didn’t linger long on the beach blanket. After my swim, a few of us walked with our two dogs down the beach to escape the annoyance of the flies. After walking some distance, I decided to head back for another swim, while the others proceeded further down the beach toward a juncture where a rocky stream emptied into the sea. As I turned to head back, from out of the forest behind the beach meadow came leaping gracefully and joyfully a perfect speckled fawn. The fawn danced out into the calm, glassy water and began to glide as gracefully through the sea as it had bounded across the sand. It watched me cautiously as it swam. I stopped to stare. I had never seen a deer swim, and it was a wonder to behold. Suddenly, the fawn stopped swimming and stared hard at me. Then it emerged slowly from the water and trod right up to the place I was standing. It locked eyes with me intently, and I would even say lovingly, for a long moment before suddenly leaping off again, disappearing into the forest that stretched beyond the meadow.?

After my encounter with the swimming fawn, I never again perseverated on my collision. That little creature had looked at me with a love so searchingly that it must have rooted out the deep regret in my heart and left seeds of self-compassion in its place. No doubt, many of us (myself included) have regrets about decisions or actions more life-altering than my incident with the fawn. But the lesson of the swimming fawn stays with me to this day. We must open our hearts to the miraculous creatures, humans and events that, at times, come across our paths simply to remind us of something important we have forgotten. The force of love and compassion in the world is all the more powerful when allowed to flow inward to heal ourselves.

“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well... for there is a Force of love moving through the universe that holds us fast and will never let us go." -Julian of Norwich

Rachel Boehm