Bugs get a bad rap. Truly. How would you like always being blamed for the world’s problems? Annoyed by something? “Oooh, that bugs me!” Feeling unwell? “I’ve caught a bug!” Something not working quite right? “Gotta get the bugs out.” Sure, bugs creep me out too—especially the big, crunchy ones, or the ones with a jillion legs, or huge stingers—but maybe some bugs are simply misunderstood.
By now, I should know swimming on Arizona summer nights nearly always involves sharing the water with critter companions. Moths, beetles, June bugs, crickets; they all start dive-bombing the pool around 8 p.m. or 9 p.m., as though they too had designated hours like human littles. Despite night hawks also swooping in to gather tasty, late night bug snacks, my attempts to navigate between these creepy crawlers frequently prove futile.
Still, not wanting to don sunscreen, I found myself doing laps the other night in surprisingly clear waters…until it joined me. Huge. Black. Pokey legs and scratchy feet. I knew because a similar one crawled onto my back several months prior and I nearly leapt out of my swimsuit trying to flick it off!
I tried splashing this one away, but I couldn’t get it out of the water without having to touch it. Instead, I coaxed it to another part of the pool and kept going… but not before noticing the bug’s predicament. Flailing. Struggling. Waterlogged. Stuck. It had no way out, other than into the pool filter where it likely would meet its demise. And here I was, hundreds of times bigger than this bug, yet, fearful of what it might do to me instead of lifting my finger to help it back on deck.
Perhaps it didn’t want to be in the water any more than I wanted it there. Perhaps it just needed help and I just needed to get over myself. But I didn’t. I pushed it away and continued on, eventually to the hot tub where I could put my bug worries to rest.
Wrong. The thoughts started swirling faster than the bug had been thrashing: Do I do this too with conflict? With challenging circumstances or conversations? Do I tell myself I’m courageous, but when push comes to shove I’d rather shoo those buggy situations away—even let them die and clog up the proverbial pool—rather than tackle them directly to free us both? How often—really—am I more guilty of cowardly choices than my pride would like me to believe?
I decided to go back and help, but the bug was gone. Whether it found its way to freedom, or got trapped in the filtration system and died, I don’t know. Suddenly, I felt bad for the bug and remembered opportunities have time limits. The window to act is not forever, so I must ask myself: Am I truly being the person I want to be in all circumstances, or just when it feels convenient and safe? This may bug me for some time.
Tucson official: Air Force won't pay for D-M groundwater cleanup now
