Ladybug Lesson

First, you should know I’m writing this while procrastinating my work— which I think is always the best time to write a little blog. When I finish this I’ll have felt I was productive while prolonging my self-induced sense of dread because I’m avoiding the one task I really just need to get done.

Whatever!

Second, you should know it’s supposed to get up to 72 degrees today. In St. Louis, Missouri. In February. Okay, we’re one and a half days shy of March. But still— all said to mean: I’m going to whip this up and get my a$$ outside.

Last September I started seeing ladybugs everywhere. I felt like I hadn’t seen one in such a long time, so it felt substantial to be noticing them. Woo-woo or not, I like to believe in synchronicities. I looked up at the time: “What does it mean when you’re seeing a bunch of ladybugs out of nowhere?” The damn Google AI overview told me they usually symbolize good luck and positive life changes. Hmm.

I needed to do further research, somewhere more credible. Luckily, this was on par with the reddit thread that popped up where u/[deleted] said four years ago: “Seeing a ladybug may be a sign of good luck and genuine love, as well as a harbinger of transformation. This mystical creature is a messenger as well as carrier of the best news, and it bestows blessings upon people who come into contact with its presence.”

Now thats what I needed to hear.

I don’t remember what demons I was fighting in September at this point (actually, I do, but now that I’m remembering, we really don’t need to get into it here), but now when I see a ladybug I stop to admire and appreciate the guidance and reassurance.

On Monday, after spending the entire weekend face down in my pillow nursing an unexpected (& honestly whiplash!) heartbreak, I saw a lady bug in a patch of sunlight on a staircase.

In February it is so easy to yearn. And yearning is destabilizing. I re-learned this the hard way this month. No waxing poetic further on this, I know we all know this, and if you don’t, you will one day, and then over and over again.

I think I always feel especially open to love in this yo-yo transition period into spring. Something about glimpses of the warmth and taking advantage of the short days you actually get to emerge and enjoy sunlight and fresh air without more than a single layer or two feels really tender and hopeful. My heart always feels soft and I am prone to fall in love in one way or another. In February, I feel a gentleness descend on me and I want to be forgiving. Even to myself— which is rare, but I’m working on making it less so.

Even as everything feels like I’m balancing on one of those big circus balls and trying to juggle expectations, deadlines, and aspirations, and then I’m falling off the ball and dropping everything— February feels like, eh, at least you had it all going for a second. At least you got up there.

February says: you were in the sun yesterday drinking it in and now you’re shivering in the wind chill, well, come here, let’s get a jacket on you, and you can go right back out there.

The lady bug feels like, everything happens for a reason and what’s for you cannot miss you. No need to seek, no need to yearn. It’s all here.

The lady bug says: you gave your heart and it was bruised upon its return, worry not, you lose nothing by loving, even if only briefly.

So, I’m going outside today with my legs out and my shoulders bare. I will appreciate this day and the warmth while I have it. It will be gone too soon, but then it will be back. It always comes back. Even when it seems the cold/wet/dreary/ick spell will never break. It always does.

So, that’s my lesson this month. Love, like spring, is to be trusted, even in its arrhythmia. After all, a ladybug told me this.