this is NOT a post about liking or loving bugs. (i’m actually not particularly fond of bugs.)
this is about a conversation i had with the five-year old last summer, who was four at the time. read on- it’s profound in a way that children often are without realizing it.
we were on a walk in the park. he was climbing a tree and i was standing at the base, spotting. after about three mins, i noticed that i had gotten at least four new bug bites, which was frustrating because of the ensuing itching.
“sighhhhh,” i complained,
bugs love me; they always have. it’s so annoying.
i said it that way because when i was a child, my mother used to say “the bugs love you because you’re so sweet” to assuage my frustration at getting so many bug bites in warmer months. it’s been a life long struggle
he came down a couple of branches from his climb and looked at me, comparing his biteless skin.
“yeah, bugs love me too.”
“how do you figure that?” i asked.
well, they love you in a way that makes them want to bite you. they love me in a way that makes them not want to bite me.
give yourself a moment to feel that.
and here, now, 3/4 of a year later, i still sit sometimes on a bench outside of one of my favorite museums and ponder that thought. (just a few blocks away from where the story took place)
what is the difference between the kind of love that makes it okay to damage you for personal gain and the kind of love that makes it important to keep you from harm?
which one do you want?