There is a very small fly on my shirt. Minuscule, at first I thought it was a piece of dust. The door in this coffee shop is open, but it is really very far away, seen from the fly’s point of view. I wonder if I can help. As soon as an animal, no matter how small, comes into my field of vision, I feel responsible for not accidentally crushing it when I put my coat on. Or put my hand on something and it happens to be under it.
Now it’s on my writing pad.
People sometimes find it strange that I worry so much about the wellbeing of small living creatures. I find it strange that it is so common for many people to kill large and small animals in many ways without giving it any further thought.
Sometimes consciously. (Because they want to eat it, or want the skin, or it’s sick, or they don’t have the space for it, or it’s commercially useless, or they’re bothered by it.)
Sometimes carelessly. (As they watch it fly or crawl or move).
Now it’s on the table.
I want to get it on my hand or napkin so I can take it out, but I hesitate for a moment. To others, it probably looks like I’m obsessively staring at a table to then get something imaginary on my finger. Not that I should care what others think.
Now I don’t see it anymore.
One moment before I saw it spreading its wings on the edge of the table, so I’m assuming it’s on its way to another spot and has a great day.
I am grateful that I took the time to focus my attention on this little fly for a while. And that spontaneous writing inspiration has sprung from it. As an example that – even without an app or tool – there are many possibilities in daily life to find a-mindful-moment in the moment.
(And what you can do with insects that ‘really bother you’ instead of killing them? Catch them. Carefully place a glass over them, slide a piece of paper under it, and take them outside.)