Our local botanical garden has an annual butterfly exhibit.  It is a favorite of my family.  For me, the annual butterfly exhibit is the first sign of Spring.  This time of year, Bambino wakes up demanding a visit to the butterflies.  Because of this, our house is immersed in butterfly books, puzzles, and pictures.  A childhood fascination of butterflies must be universal, because his school is equally awash with the bugs.

Truthfully, I don’t know a human being who hates butterflies.  I’ve always been fascinated about the process of their metamorphosis.  An ordinary caterpillar hides away, and grows into something remarkable.  It’s understandable why so many artists are fascinated with them.  We all long for this metamorphosis on some level. 

Just like butterflies, people grow and develop.  Unfortunately, we can’t hide in a chrysalis.  We get to shed our proverbial skins out in public.  It’s often awkward and uncomfortable (remember your teenage years?).  I’m starting to think that I’m in a place of flux, growth, whatever.  I’m not sure where I’m headed.  I may turn into a butterfly.  I may end up an earwig.

When I figure out what’s ahead, I’ll let you know.  (And, for the record, my family life is still perfectly imperfect.  No drama there.  I’m just in a place of introspection and (hopefully) personal growth.)

“When we are no longer able to change a situation– we are challenged to change ourselves.”  -Viktor Frankl