Bees

 

School started last week. 

This morning I saved a bee from drowning. They drink from the kiddie pool I fill for my ducks and often drown in the process. I made a little bee drinking container, but they are drawn to the larger body of water. I can't save them all.

Did you know my name means honey bee? It's Greek. I don't know if that has anything to do with being drawn to their safety or not. Maybe it is some sort of self-preservation. I used to think that my name didn't suit me, but I think I've grown into it. Honey bees are a collective, for the greater good, something that  I strive to embody.

Sometimes I feel like a speck in the world. Actually, many of my days are spent feeling like an empty space in the universe. I'm not sure if it is from feeling like I'm unheard, or because I am crushed by the weight of possibility. It could be anything in between. Either way, it's exhausting to be in a constant state of existential crisis.

But if you think about it, bees are just tiny specks in the world, yet without them, our existence would be much less beautiful. No flowers, less plants, no fruit. We would survive, but there would be a noticeable absence.

It's really easy to fall into the pitfalls of my anxiety when school starts. Suddenly my worth is quantified into grades. Suddenly, if I struggle with an assignment, it's because I'm not smart or creative enough. Or maybe I'm not trying hard enough. School makes all my flaws float to the surface and I have to deal with them head on. And more often than not, I feel as though I am insufficient.

I guess what I'm getting at is, I am a honey bee. I need to remember that even though I may be a speck, I exist for a reason. And my absence would be noticed.

Time

Time is a weird thing.

I can never really get the hang of it; always elusive and confusing. Days and weeks will pass in a spiral of slowing and speeding moments that I'm never fully aware of.

Summer is coming to an end soon and I have not completed any of the tasks I wanted to. I have not fixed up and learned how to drive the manual Acura Integra that has been sitting in my driveway. I have not completed any writing projects. I haven't even finished putting together the zine for the comic shop.

Needless to say, I am not great at completing things.

Time.

I mean, look at the babies in that photo (that's me in the middle). I am about the same age my niece is now, which places it about twenty five years ago. A whole quarter century, almost the entirety of my life; yet in the grand scheme of things, it is a blip on the cosmic timeline.

I guess what I am getting at is, we tend to worry too much about time, I worry too much about time. I make up these timelines and then sink farther and farther into a cycle of shame and defeat when it doesn't play out the way I think it will. In my quest to be kinder to myself (and live a less anxious existence) I need to let go of some of these expectations.

You'd think that after all these years I would realize that I complete things in my own time. I get this feeling that I am a failure because I don't do everything I want to and in turn, completely ignore the things that I am actually accomplishing.

This summer I started a writer's group and I'm putting together an all women creators zine. I've been keeping up on my blog. Though it wasn't much, I made some progress on my graphic novel Delirium. If we don't celebrate our accomplishments, it's easy to forget they are even happening.

I need to stop thinking about time in a sense that I am wasting it.