My backyard has an alarming amount of bee activity. Whenever I am reading a book or trying to enjoy a meal on my porch, those bees are determined to ruin my experience. I used to think that they were vindictive--out to get me for mowing down their pollinated flowers. And really, their persistence has no bounds. I will be sitting INSIDE my house, and hear those gigantic bumble bees thumping up against the window...over and over again.
This is always rather amusing to me. Observing from the safety of my kitchen table, I will see the same exact bee flying directly into the window pane without ceasing or much regard for bodily harm. Either they are incredibly resilient or increasingly dumb. What are their motives? Can they see me? Do they just have no better sense of direction? Do they enjoy the pain?
And then it hit me--I am not much different than those bees. Human behavior seems to have a tendency to fall back on what is the most comfortable and the most safe--the most predictable, really. For me, depression has always been a constant. I know what to expect from my depression--what to expect from myself. I know who I am in the midst of pain, and I know how to handle it. I define myself within this space, and readily RUN smashing back into it as soon as I become afraid. I know to expect hardship and sadness. I know how to harden my heart in anticipation of disappointment.
I don't know what to do with joy and vulnerability and hope.
And so, I am very much like those bees. And while I think that I am protecting myself by running back to the safety of the wall, I'm failing to see the bigger picture--the picture that my friends are able to see and point out to me. I am so concentrated on running to what is familiar--the pain, the depression, the Sarah that is her problems, that I fail to see the destructiveness of my actions. I am so focused on being safe, on guarding my heart from being hurt, that I miss out on the joy of the moment. I am trying so hard to brace myself for the worst to happen, that I forget the possibility of hope and goodness.
In an attempt to be comfortable and safe, I embrace the discomfort of pain as reality.
The thing is, those bees have a whole backyard to explore. They have a whole world to get to flying to. They have chosen a reality (unfortunately the reality of death by house siding) because they can't see the bigger picture. They run into that wall over and over and over because they won't chance trying something new. They refuse to consider other options. And so they are smashed to pieces--slowly, bit by bit, until they can no longer fly at all.
I don't want to ruin my chance at flight. I don't want to be like those bees. I want to live out of hope and anticipation of joy, not depression. I want to start believing in my ability to fly, to expand my borders to a larger area than just my backyard. I want to choose to acknowledge my own goodness because that is what is real- that is who I really am. My behavior, my all too often decision to run into the same wall over and over--that's not me. That's my choice. And it's a bad one at that.
Next time you find yourself going back to the same negative thought, pattern of relating, or general life choice, remember--you can change your flight. You can head in a different direction.
Cultivate hope simply because there is hope to be found. Within your world, within the people around you, and most of all within yourself. You are worth your set of wings--don't destroy them just yet.
