It’s morning and the coffee brews warm in the to-go cup. I pat Mama kitty on the head quickly (she’s the only one to send me off to work today) and rush out the blue door into the world. The early autumn air is still. The sun rises soft over my garden illuminating the dew on the roses’ petals. Then, it catches my eye. Gleaming gossamer in the haze, silver threads quiver for a moment, grab the light, and vanish. I see her, too: a prominent black and yellow spider sitting proudly in her intricate home.
As I balanced into my jeep with my purse and my coffee and my breakfast, I thought briefly about the spiders. Perhaps I misjudged. I never gave them much thought, honestly. In fact, I’ve always kind of feared them, all of them, for no particular reason, really. So typical of fear, right? Rooted in misconception. Just because we are afraid of something doesn’t give us permission to write it off. Reject it. Or hurt it.
And– if we stop to ponder– aren’t spiders actually pretty brave? They fling filament wild into nothingness, hoping it will catch. They weave beauty– patiently placing each silver strand over the other. They are steady, silent artists. Relentless workers. When their efforts are unraveled by the elements, they find a new anchor. Even when they are displaced, boldly– they begin again. I accidentally transported a spider to work this morning. It emerged shyly from my car’s window. My first instinct was to fling it far in fear– but what if I just let it be? And so I did. It scampered off to nature–to build a new bridge into the unknown. If only we were all so courageous.
So tonight I sit here and wonder– what else– who else– have I misjudged? What else– who else– do I fear out of misconception? What– who?– do I need to reconsider? The realizations are uncomfortable– but important.
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