A Year of Gratitude – April 13, 2024
The ladybug had a whole room to be in, yet it was right beside me as I worked. I stopped for a bit to watch it and then realized that it was moving in time with me. As I added soap finish to the board, it stopped, frozen in place. When I would stop to apply more finish to my cloth and leave the board alone, it would begin to move again.
I’m sure that the movement and lack of movement was a defense mechanism. If you freeze in place and don’t move, predators have a more difficult time spotting you. You can stay in that spot and wait for a moment to start moving again, hoping that it is safe to do so. Movement draws attention, so staying still helps you to not be noticed.
Then, when the moment presents itself and it is time to make your way, you move your little legs as fast as they can go. At least that’s what I imagined this ladybug was doing. I can’t say for sure what its motivation was or why it chose to move when it did and be still when it was. Only the ladybug knows that. I was merely an observer.
When I found myself at a stopping point, I took a break for a few minutes, I sat in the sunshine streaming through the nearby window. I didn’t pick up my phone. I didn’t make plans for the next phase in my project. I simply sat there and watched that ladybug.
It was quiet in the room. I was there by myself. Penny Lane was asleep in the room on the first floor of the farmhouse beneath me. I just sat there in the warm sunshine, in the room that smelled faintly of soap, and watched as this little ladybug traveled its path.
I thought about the moments of stillness, of being frozen in place, too terrified to move. Then I watched as those little legs, seemingly too small to carry even a light little ladybug carried it quickly across the floorboards.
I understand that flurry of movement paired with moments of being positively frozen in place. I too have found myself too terrified to move, too afraid to discover what lies ahead. I have, as a defense mechanism, chosen to be motionless just to avoid being noticed, to protect myself. Then, when I have summoned enough courage, I move as fast as I can, hoping to carry myself to safety, hoping to reach that elusive patch of sunlight.
I may not be able to speak for the ladybug’s plan, but I can appreciate it. I can understand it. I can also learn from it. I can choose to give myself the grace and understanding, forgive myself when I am frozen in place and celebrate the victory when I start moving forward again. With any luck, I’ll reach that sunshine.
This post is part of our A Year of Gratitude Series. You can find the introduction, inspiration, and entire year’s gratitude’s posts here.