I've done everything I can think of to improve my mindfulness. I've tried countless meditation apps and breathing exercises to stay in the present, and I'm always working on improving my mental health.
What helps me stay grounded has nothing to do with any of that. It's an app for identifying birds.
Cornell Lab of Ornithology's Merlin Bird ID launched in 2014 to help people identify the birds they see and hear. Thanks to eBird, the world's largest database of bird sounds and photos based on 800 million global sightings, the app allows you to record a bird, answer a series of questions or upload a photo to name your winged friend. Or you can simply use the app to explore the different birds in your area, no matter where you are in the world, and even if you're offline.
The app's homepage, with three avenues for identification. Anna Gragert/CNET
One of my favorite features of Merlin Bird ID is that you can use it to keep track of your bird sightings and, like an IRL Pokemon GO, "collect 'em all."
The first time I used the app, I sat out on my balcony, clicked the green "Sound" button and watched as the app identified the birds chirping and singing in all directions. You can see the different sound frequencies as they appear on a real-time spectrogram, a visual representation of the audio world. The next time I checked the clock, I was shocked to see that an hour had passed. Then, I dug out my binoculars and let even more time fly.
What a spectrogram on the app looks like. Anna Gragert/CNET
As any Merlin Bird IDer knows, there is no thrill quite like pressing the "This is my bird" button for the first time, and it never gets old. From there, you can record your location. The app, in turn, will save your report to improve its performance.
Before long, I had different bird sounds memorized. In the morning, I would wake to the sound of a California Towhee's alarm-like and frankly, yes, annoying cheeping from a tree outside my window right as the sun started to rise. On walks around my neighborhood, I'd auditorially part the sound of cars and distant construction to hear the melody of House Finches mixed with staccato chirps of Lesser Goldfinches and the droning coos from a pair of Mourning Doves religiously stationed on electrical wires. It was the song that had been the soundtrack of my world, but I hadn't noticed until now.
By sight, I'd recognize Red-Whiskered Bulbuls with their black crests and fire engine cheeks, a blush color waiting to be replicated in powder form. Black Phoebes made themselves known with their fluffy soot-black heads, statue stillness and ivory bellies. At the hummingbird feeder on my balcony, there is a never-ending line of customers with iridescent throats in sunset colors: Anna's Hummingbirds (my favorite, as you might guess), Allen's and even the uncommon Rufous, who spend all day fighting over sugar water when not watching the feeder from their magnolia tree perches.
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