Right before the weather turned cold, four ladybugs moved into my house. Earlier in the gardening season, I had aphids on my tomatoes and I had looked for ladybugs to introduce to the garden but couldn’t find them. I called around to various garden centers, even all the way up to Minnesota and there was a shortage of ladybugs everywhere. Maybe they got caught in the supply chain issues. So, when they showed up at my door late fall, I welcomed them. “I might need you to work for me in the future,” I said to them.

My house has proven to be quite the hospitable ecosystem for these little beetles and now the four have become legion. I have found them on my houseplants- great, eat the fungus gnats, please! I find them in my window sills- that’s not the way out, friend. It’s still cold out there! And I have a few who have set up shop in my office. There is a large, smooth stone from Lake Superior on my desk. It’s here to help ground me when the anxiety swirls me away. Right now, the stone is holding a book open for me to come back to it.

As I was preparing to center myself before I attempted to meditate, I noticed one of my bespeckled friends joined me and my stone. She’s walking around and around and around the stone and touring the words on the open book. When she gets to the edge of the page, she pauses and flails, reaching around for the next secure footing to continue her exploration. When she doesn’t find new secure footing, she returns to where she came, the familiar path. She gets back on the page, back to the stone holding the book open, and does another tour.

I am feeling like my little armored friend these days. Venturing out to something new, uncharted, unfamiliar is not attractive to me. I might be brave and reach out my legs and arms to feel around to see if there is a new place to journey, but when it’s just out of reach, I bring my legs back and return to the familiar territory. I notice this in myself and turn towards the realization first with self judgment. Why can’t you be braver, Grace? I ask myself. You should just venture out. When I notice the judgment, I then remember the option to turn towards myself with compassion instead. I have had a lot of unfamiliar experiences lately. Full human existence is a lot to ask of oneself. 

Being alive can sometimes feel like a fight. A fight for safety. A fight with my body to do what I want it to. A fight with my body to look like I want it to. A fight with myself to be better, to be someone different, to function differently in relationships. Maybe instead of fighting, or judging, I am being invited simply to notice. Notice where I am sitting. Notice my book on my desk. Notice the beat of my heart. Notice the pace of my lungs. 

I tried to count the dots on the ladybug, but she was too busy. She had a rock to explore and words to follow on a page. I couldn’t get an accurate number. She and I have that in common; she will never know how many spots she has on her reddish orange shell, either. I wonder if she ever delights in her own beauty, or knows what it feels like to have the sun softening her shell. So today, instead of willing myself to fight with my body, staying busy enough so I don’t have to stop and count my dots or consider the warmth of the sun, maybe today, I’ll take a risk to simply notice.