Jessica
For the past few weeks, the sidewalks in my neighborhood have been littered with caterpillars, fat and furry or skinny little slitherers. I cannot recall seeing so many caterpillars in previous springs. This year, I’m noticing them.
Yesterday evening, as I arrived home from work, I found a bright green caterpillar, abut half an inch long, adhered to the door jamb of my building. Its cocoon was half constructed; white silk covered its body’s bottom half. I checked on my new friend this morning and found that it made progress in the night. The silk was slightly thicker, but it wasn’t yet completely wrapped.
As I walked to my bus stop this morning, I realized that I feel like the caterpillar. I’ve been thinking about all the slow transformations I’ve made in my adult life. They were all so painstaking. Not all of them were intentional. And here I am now, making yet another slow and intentional change.
I certainly feel changed, as I watch my body shift, expand and grow. But more than that, I notice slow perspective shifts. I view our home in terms of how a little person will experience it. I think of my work and how it will be perceived by my child.
Unlike the caterpillar, I don’t know who or what I will change into. I just know that it will be someone more than I am now, someone who takes responsibility to be a guide and a teacher in someone else’s slow and painstaking changes.
