“How does one become a butterfly?” she asked pensively.
“You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.” (Trina Paulus)
My back feels almost okay. Maybe the weather is trying to behave—going for stable with autumn cool. Then again, I’m in a less stressful place right now. That could have something to do with it, too. I watch my husband pull a clean fitted sheet back onto our bed. With ease. A simple matter, but a task he couldn’t do as recently as a week ago.
I smile at the woman next to me at water aerobics class and she smiles back. I want to talk with her, but don’t know why. Eventually, I ask her name and offer mine.”
She tells me, “Last week I thought you were tall. Then I saw you get out of the water.”
I explain that I choose to avoid the impact of jumping. “I love to tread water anyway. It’s no big sacrifice.”
We yak all through class. And it’s okay. My arms and legs follow the instructor’s moves. My heart follows this woman’s perspective. Her sharing buoys my spirit as the water lifts my body through the hour’s exercise.
This beautiful lady doesn’t have an easy life. Yet she meets each day with grace. She is a caretaker, not by choice. Life threw her a curve. And she caught the ball on the first bounce. Insert any crisis here; details can vary. I don’t need to give her name or relay anything about her situation. Difficult stories abound. Her life work makes mine look like kindergarten homework.
Simply imagine finally having the life you want—seeing it shot down—then redefining all that is left… The possibilities are endless.
After I climb the ladder to leave the pool I wonder about what it is like to be a caterpillar. After all, I’m built close enough to the ground. Perhaps too, the choice to become a butterfly isn’t a one-time shot in the human realm. Wings don’t develop through a single metamorphosis.
Change occurs throughout life. At twenty, thirty, or seventy.
My husband leaves the men’s locker room and meets me by the door. “Listo?” The Spanish word is part of the phrase Listo para salir? It means, Ready to go?
“Listo.” I answer, meaning I’m ready to fly, and I’m working on creating a new set of wings.
photo by Sue Wilke
terrypetersen 