The Panic Pelicans are two belligerent creatures that are perpetually fighting off the attacks of a python in a large parlor room. I perceive my panic as two rankled entities under a threat that is easily avoidable or nonexistent, screeching at each other to find a solution when one of them has already found it. Their frenzy is tremendously disturbing and, of all the iterations of my anxiety, I used to resent them most whenever I discovered them at my door. These birds, once distraught that I didn’t have any purpose or meaning in my life, now squawk frantically that because I care deeply about my pursuits, these pursuits will surely be taken away. The chaos and uncertainty that they carry with them are always exaggerated, but their presence can sometimes be helpful. I’ve come to accept that these Panic Pelicans are merely reminding me that nothing is promised, that some things in life are determined by turmoil, and that I have to make an effort every day to focus on the things that I can control. I added a second story to their custom home in hopes that one day they will stop bickering and fretting long enough to figure out that they can fly.

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