Black & Yellow

I squinted as I stepped onto the patio. The backyard was drenched in the early morning sun and fresh dew covered the lawn. Life was buzzing around me as birds and bugs zoomed through the air.

Jerry, our dog, walked gingerly through the grass, sniffing his way to the perfect spot.

Insects darted around in front of me. I was saying good morning to the dragonflies and butterflies when a familiar foe buzzed by. Covered in black and yellow stripes, my worst fears were confirmed as it landed on the cedar steps.

A wasp.

Now, this may sound a bit dramatic. I’ve been stung twice before, and the last time was much worse than the first. My lower leg swelled up to double its size and I was in a considerable amount of pain for the day. Since then, I’ve been understandably wary of the winged creature.

I tried to ignore it. Jerry was still sniffing around the yard. The wasp had landed right on the path Jerry would take when walking back up the steps to the patio door, and I began to have visions of having to hold a piece of ice on him after the wasp inevitably stung him.

I began to survey the yard for something with a hard, smooth bottom. The sandals I was wearing were made of foam, not exactly the best choice when going into a wasp battle. A few feet ahead of me sat a plastic watering jug. I picked it up, inspected the bottom, and felt the confidence of someone riding a bike for the first time.

I pondered the outcome of this potential decision. On one hand, if I squish it, I don’t have to worry about a sting for either myself or Jerry. On the other hand, if I miss, I could have a very angry wasp on my hands who now had good motive to fight back.

I moved closer to the stairs. My breathing quickened. My eyes fixed on my half inch opponent.

I raised the watering can, took a big breath, and came down as hard as I could. 

Silence.

Nothing flew out. There was no retaliation. I stood there, crouched over the stairs with the can still firmly pressed on the hard surface. Slowly, I lifted it up.

I had won the fight.

And instantly, I realized what I had done.

This was, fittingly, a metaphor for my life.

The wasp hadn’t done anything to me. Sure, wasps in the past have (two, to be exact). But this wasp was just hanging out on the steps. Of course, I had established a pattern in my mind, and after the last time I was stung, the fear of these creatures was locked in my mind.

This is how a lot of people live their lives. They seek to eliminate danger, or rather, the potential of danger, in order to feel safe. I’ve done this by ending friendships, by leaving jobs, and by moving. Better to leave than to be hurt, I would tell myself.

But we can’t bubble wrap the world. For every happy moment, there is going to be a hard one. The discomfort that comes from the challenges we face is what pushes us to grow. Without them, we stay safe, but we also stay in the same spot.

I sat down on the steps, looking at the now still wasp. Jerry bounded towards me, blissfully unaware of my internal struggle and stark realization. As I opened the door to go inside, I turned my face to the sun. Breathing in, I decided I wanted all of it, good and bad, easy and hard, light and dark.

After all, what is one without the other?