flight of the butterfly

today i saw a metaphor.

and i saw it while i was waiting to cross the street.

i was standing at the intersection of st. clair and avenue road around 2:30 this afternoon. it was gorgeous in toronto today: mostly sunny, breezy, dry, mid-70s. and, as i stood there waiting for the traffic signals to change in my favour, i saw the metaphor.

i looked up and noticed that a monarch butterfly was making its way diagonally through the busy intersection, about twelve feet above the ground, but low enough that its fragile little body was being tossed around in mid-air by the wind present in the atmosphere combined with the air turbulence caused by all the traffic whirring past.

but that little butterfly kept right on going.

it was pushed to the left, and then swung back to the right. it would get caught in an updraft and instantly be sucked a few feet heavenward, only to fly right into a downdraft and be yanked back down to Earth just a few precarious inches from a passing truck. undeterred, the butterfly kept right on going.

as i watched this determined little butterfly proceed on its singular mission despite the absolute aeronautical mayhem happening all around it, i thought of myself, and how – very much unlike the butterfly – i so often find myself completely knocked off course and veering all over the map instead of continuing onward to my original destination. even if i try to keep my distance from the fray, "flying" above the chaos, it still affects me. when i get knocked to the right, i stop. or i start heading to the right because i figure that’s obviously where i’m supposed to go, initial plans be damned. or i turn around, flustered, and go back to square one to try to figure out a better way to get back to the left again. if i’m caught in a sudden updraft, i ride it wherever it takes me but always come crashing down when i least expect it.

now, i weigh considerably more than a butterfly, and the winds blowing through my life aren’t of the same strength (relatively speaking) as those tossing my winged little pal about, yet i wind up sidelined while the butterfly bounces on its merry way. and, more often than not, i don't even have a destination in mind. i'm not usually on a mission like that butterfly was; i'm coasting, or surfing, or just meandering aimlessly looking for a destination.

how does the butterfly do it? is that focus or determination or dedication or mindless pursuit of nectar regardless of the world’s winds inherent in its nature? is it the product of millennia of evolution, or lack thereof? or is it not a matter of how, but why?

i dunno, but i wish i had a little more of whatever that butterfly’s got going on.