Last week, as I was walking into work, I happened to look down and saw a butterfly struggling on the sidewalk in front of me. Longtime readers of this blog know how much butterflies mean to me, but even I was surprised by how overcome with emotion I was to discover that this particular butterfly, although very much alive, had a hurt wing and was unable to fly.
The emotion–I literally welled up–stayed with me as I stepped around the little creature and headed upstairs to my office, and by the time I got to my desk I already knew I was going to go back downstairs to try to help it. So I recruited my friend and coworker, Hannah–who probably thought I was completely nutso–to come help me and, armed with copies of one of our publications to use as a flat surface to help move the butterfly, we headed back downstairs.
Needless to say, the butterfly wasn’t very happy with our plan and fluttered around in protest quite a bit, but we did manage to move it away from the sidewalk and onto a patch of grass where plants and flowers also grew, all without harming it further. Then we headed back upstairs, and–as I said to Hannah later–I couldn’t shake the feeling that we had done a really good deed. Helping that butterfly–such a small act, and for such a small creature–felt so special. I’ve thought about our butterfly rescue mention often since last week, and every time it makes me both happy and some other indescribable emotion–a combination of sadness and nostalgia, I think, although it feels even more complex than that.
I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, other than that I’ve been wanting to write out the story, and I’m not sure what it means for me and my life or where I am in it right now. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know. But until I do, I’ll just say that I hope that every one of you experiences those same ripples of joy I felt when we were able to help that little butterfly.
Happy weekend, friends. xox