The Caterpillar

On Saturday I was at a meeting. A young woman mentioned that she had read something extraordinary. The writer said that when she was a child she would spend hours squatting by a caterpillar, watching how it moved, looking at its colors, riveted by every small wiggle – and how much pleasure and joy she had derived from that exercise, oft repeated.  As an adult she no longer watched caterpillars. She rarely watched anything with that kind of attention, too focused as she was on the business of life.  The speaker explained how much this reading meant to her: she, too, used to watch animals for hours on end, having grown up in the country, but now, with two kids and a husband, she never had time to even notice her surroundings. Boy, did that resonate with what I’ve been feeling and writing about. The story made my recent struggle crystal clear. While I never watched caterpillars – not my thing – I did dance, create stories, play endless dress up games with friends, climb trees – where did all that joy and energy go?  I still create stories; no wonder fiction writing is so important to me!  Each week I hope to find, and reinstate, a new one of these endeavors, including find new ones, so I am truly present in my life, and enjoying as many moments of it as I can.  Seems essential, somehow.