Ladybug Lost

A ladybug landed on a page in my journal last night while I was writing at a restaurant and enjoying a delicious glass of red zinfandel. First, she crawled onto my finger and then onto my scribblings. (Though I refer to her as "she," I am certain that not all ladybugs are female, or the ladybug species would be seriously endangered.) I wondered to myself, Is she a kindred spirit? Is she lost in a foreign place, someplace unlike the home she's used to, somewhere she's never been before?

And where will she go when she leaves and flies away?
Where will I go from here?

I think I am finally getting a clue that for the vast majority of us, life is mostly about change. It is mostly about figuring out how to deal with loss, pain, difficulties, challenges. The most disconcerting thing, however, is that just when you think you know how to respond to one kind of loss, another presents itself. For example, I think I have figured out how to deal with the loss of a relationship with a parent who does not want me as part of his life. I have moved on and am at peace about his choice. That's one kind of relational loss. But I feel completely in the dark about how to deal with the death of my mother, my wonderful friend. One year later, it still feels new so many days. Every kind of loss is unique, as is every challenge and struggle and pain that life throws our way, so each one must be dealt with in its own way. So it feels like you're always starting over, starting from scratch in learning about yourself, but that, I suppose, is the core of personal growth. At least that is one positive thing we can tell ourselves when we have to deal with hardships - "I am growing as a person." Amazing the things we tell ourselves in order to cope - humans have a vast capacity for self-preservation!

The little lost ladybug had no idea what she was getting herself into when she got lost in a restaurant, nor the affect she would end up having on the thoughts that spilled out and landed on the pages of my journal.