A butterfly landed on my windowsill one morning and I convinced myself it was sent to get me out of bed. It appeared in such a strange and unexpected way – suddenly just in my eyeline, in the gap of my blackout blinds – that I was sure it had come just for me.
It was eleven in the morning, and I lay in bed horribly afraid. In my mind I was caught up in what to do with my day, what to do with my life, that would give it the most meaning. Should I sit down and write, should I watch my nephew play basketball, should I practice performing? It all felt equally unsettling and uncertain to me. It felt like time would pass no matter what I chose. The hours had ticked by, and I had come to no conclusions, leaving me bereft with a sore head, until suddenly here was this miraculously creature! With its beautiful, patterned wings! Right in front of my eyes! It had no purpose being up that high (there are no flowers or anything for it to eat) and in my stupor I imagined it to be a long-lost relative, reincarnated.
For the sake of the butterfly and its journey, I decided I needed to get out of the house. I drove to a forest path where I put one foot in front of the other and I smiled and said hi to those that passed me. While I was minding my business, a couple’s dog came up next to me, padding lightly by my knees. As the owner passed, he said, ‘you should check your car boot carefully when you get back, he might well be in there!’ I smiled and gave the dog a pat on the head, telling it gently with my mind that I was so grateful it chose me today. As he continued to pace next to me, I imagined this might be what it feels like to get married.
Back in the car, I wondered if I should go back to my old job to keep myself out of my head. I felt the hope I’d been growing inside me smart and cling to my ribs. I took a deep breath in. Maybe I’d cracked my head open in such a way that I wouldn’t be able to work conventional jobs anymore. I started the engine and thought I was conceited to think that way about myself. By then I was starting to get hungry, so I went to a garden centre that I used to visit with my mum as a kid. At my table I sat and read a book about a woman who struggled to find meaning in life. I ate a salad and didn’t buy chips with it, not because I was being healthy, but because I didn’t feel like chips today.
Afterwards, I bought some oat biscuits that were more delicious than anything I’d eaten for a long time. I sat in the car with them in my lap and suddenly, as if someone had raised their fist, felt so profoundly ashamed of myself that I almost threw the packet straight out the open car window and onto the ground outside. I sat in silence searching myself for the source of the feeling. I couldn’t find it. Nobody had told me to be ashamed. The butterfly and the dog hadn’t told me to be ashamed. They told me they were happy to see me. If they could speak, I think they would have said, ‘Eat your biscuits with pride, you deserve them.’ I imagine them to have the voices of my grandparents. The truth is I don’t know what they would say. I don’t know much about anything really, except that sometimes I feel a desperate urge to reach out for someone, something, and when it washes over me, I have to resist extending my arms out into the open air like a child. Instead, I clench and unclench my hands until the feeling passes. On days like this, it is nice to think that maybe there are some forces, some beings, that are willing to reach back.
