I Felt Worthless. Then I Met a Six-Legged Guru.
What a June bug taught me about identity, worthlessness, and the size of a miracle.
Danger
He was drowning.
The weight of a paperclip. Legs going in every direction, all six of them.
I offered my finger. He held. I carried him from the pool to the grass and set him down and said, “Have a good life, friend.”
He’s not the first June bug I’ve plucked from my swimming pool. But he’s the first to save me back.
Worthlessness
That night, I’d been struggling writing this very post.
A small thing. That felt like a huge thing.
I couldn’t find the right clump of pixels to tap onto this screen. Every idea felt wrong. Every draft hollow.
I sat in my office—the one I designed with Byrontology in mind, carefully mismatched chairs, a sturdy table, a room to say something meaningful happens here.
And nothing was happening but my computer laughing at me.
I felt worthless.
I was drowning.
Illusion
I stepped outside. Stared at my office. Outside looking in.
Embarrassed. Too hard on myself for not getting the job done. Too hard on myself for being too hard on myself.
June bugs were throwing themselves at lights. And at least one June bug threw himself into the swimming pool.
Maybe he was also chasing a light. A reflection of a light. Chasing an illusion.
Drowning for real. Little legs getting no traction. Spinning in circles.
I saved him. And myself.
