It’s interesting to me that a caterpillar puts its own self into a cocoon. As if entry to that stage of transformation is by choice. I have not studied this process and probably will not based on the little bit of research I did. The descriptions were shall we say, less than appetizing. I tried not to take too much of it in. Something about digesting itself and turning into soup and becoming something new. Okay then.
If a watched pot does not boil, what happens if we station ourselves by a cocoon? We know something is happening although we cannot see it. Based on the above, we probably don’t want to. We know the unspoken rule that it should not be disturbed. There is the temptation to do just that when you see the butterfly struggling to get out so it can actually spread its wings. And the struggle is real. At least it seems to be.
The struggle is even more real if you know the emerging butterfly personally. It is hard to keep your hands to yourself when you see them struggling. And then there’s the element of surprise of how difficult it is if you are the one pushing your way out of that well-built cocoon with all of your might. The only choice is through because through the cocoon is the only way out. So push with all of your might you do. You must get through it. Just like middle school. Please, just let us get through middle school.
When I think of middle school, I think of seventh grade. I was in a class made up of all girls. That seemed like a very unwise decision made by someone who was not familiar with hormones. And then there’s my husband. He refers to the seventh grade as the three longest years of his life. Not because it actually took three years to complete but because that is how long it felt. Sounds like a Minnesota winter.
My son’s experience however was thankfully not traumatic. I credit his principal with that. She had a knack for guiding families through these three treacherous years so that all landed safely on the other side. Parents included. I still don’t know if I prefer being in those years myself or parenting during them but either way, glad that is done. Whew.
I still enjoy the analogy that my son’s principal offered related to that year specifically. In essence, if you put a cake to bake in the oven, you wouldn’t take it out half way through and call it done. It is not. So do yourself a favor and don’t fret over what looks like a gooey hot mess. There’s still more time needed. It’s not done.
If my mentioning the seventh grade is jarring, I apologize. That was kind of rude. It’s funny though how depending on the situation, getting from point a to point b can be challenging. And I don’t mean funny as in “ha-ha.” It’s interesting and not necessarily because there is interest. It’s just that the process takes time, and when you are in the process, knowing how long it will take would be much appreciated, especially as there is a whole lot of energy being exerted. And that goes for being on the side of having to use self-control.
I can tell you from experience that the process of getting from point a to point b was not what I was expecting. I thought I was going to trek down a trail of discovery with a few art supplies and the rest would be history. Well, the rest is history alright, and I made sure to document the heck out of it. That is what I am about to share with you, and I can say it will not be pretty. Entertaining at times guaranteed, but not pretty.
So if you’re up for it, let’s roll up our sleeves and change the lens as we get into the nitty gritty of discovery.