Today I woke up to the sound of landscaping. Hedge trimmers, lawn mowers, leaf blowers... Yeah, they were out in full force. I have gotten used to this particular sort of wake-up, though, since it happens every other week. I crawled out of bed and got ready for the day (something I have to do while still possessing the motivation). Evie wiggled at me in anticipation as I came out of the bathroom: She assumed we were going on a walk. Lucky for her, she was right. I clipped on her leash, and we walked out into the morning light.
As we were making our rounds of my apartment complex, we came across one of the saddest things I have ever seen: A butterfly's wing had been clipped by an edge trimmer. Its body was entirely unharmed, but the wing was damaged beyond repair. As it fluttered pathetically across the sidewalk, I felt my heart sink. When I was a little girl, I would frequently capture butterflies and put them in jars (with holes in the top and a little thing of honey in them). They never survived more than a day or two. Seeing the wounded butterfly at my feet, I thought there was not much I could do to save it. But, I could at least make it feel better. Picking it up, I carried it over to a nearby sea of flowers. I carefully set it down in the center of them, and it seemed to settle down immediately.
Staring down at the butterfly, I thought of my own life. There are many times I have felt ravaged and broken--sometimes it was my own fault, sometimes not. In those moments where I felt like giving up, someone usually came along and helped me get to a safer place (physically or emotionally). This realization was nothing new. The new element, instead, was the thought that I chose how to respond to that help. The butterfly, as I carried it, remained perfectly still as it perched on my finger, and it even struggled towards one of the flowers in order to eat. Even though its fate was all but sealed, the butterfly was not about to give up. If something so small could have a fighting spirit, why not me? Just because life has sometimes dealt me a bad hand, it does not give me permission to wallow.
Sometimes I think that the struggle is worth more than the damage or the outcome. Life is more valuable when we have to fight to make it worthwhile.
