I know that this a mommy blog and that I haven’t been writing about mommy stuff lately. The thing is, my entire life is not about mommying. Sure, like 92% of it is, which leaves me about 8% for Other Life Shit. I feel like I have a decent handle on the mommying right now (famous last words, no doubt), so I’ve been focusing a little more on the Other Life Shit.
Plus, this is my blog and I can do whatever the fuck I want. I am the boss of me. Glennon Melton said so.
The other night, I was sipping a gin & tonic on my parents’ patio at dusk, when a little fluttering something caught the corner of my eye. “Ooohh, it’s a butterfly!” I immediately set down my drink and stealthily (not really) crept toward it to investigate.
And then my heart splintered when I got close.
This beautiful little guy was missing one of his wings and there was substantial damage to another. Who could have done this? A bird? A neighborhood cat or dog?
I got him to crawl onto my hand and I looked at him closely. After a couple minutes, he lifted his top wings and tried to fly. He floated down to the grass, rested a moment, then tried to fly again. It didn’t matter who had done this to him, or when it had happened, or why.
This dude was not giving up.
I took some Big Time Inspiration from this monarch. His wings were badly damaged. He had no butterfly friends or family nearby, nobody to carry him back to his kaleidoscope (I totally just learned that’s what a group of butterflies is called).
And despite those obstacles, he was still trying to fly. I often think of myself as a damaged person. I think some of the damage is beyond repair. I have an “as is” sticker on me. But despite my own damaged wings, I’m still trying to fly, too. And this little guy is still beautiful, isn’t he? Those of us, who think we are just as damaged: we’re still beautiful, too.