float like a butterfly?

I went to the botanic garden this morning. I missed the sign that said the path I was following was closed due to construction up ahead, but before turning back I noticed a small butterfly attempting to land on a flowering plant. The wind was strong this morning but despite being buffeted by gust after gust, the determined butterfly held its course. I thought of Muhammad Ali who passed away last week, and how often I’ve thought of butterflies as “accidental” fliers tumbling on the breeze—like bumblebees who, despite their bulk, manage to hang in the air long enough to drop into a flower’s open heart. Considering how often I’m underestimated by others, I should have known that butterflies are on a mission no matter how random their flight pattern may appear—just look at the migration of the monarchs! I had so many thoughts building in my mind this morning that I almost walked past the rose garden, which is absolutely glorious in June. I’ve never really been a fan of roses but that kind of abundance is dazzling…

There was a bride having her photo taken amidst the roses and so I took another detour but I couldn’t avoid all the families in the garden. And I know I started plotting my Viking novel moments later so I could avoid thinking about children and the role they may or may not play in my life. Yesterday a friend admitted she’s given up on the idea of having a family. I was shocked, but then wondered if that’s the first step in achieving a goal—like couples who struggle with fertility, decide to adopt, and then find they’ve conceived a child. I had an appointment to see a fertility specialist on Monday but when I arrived, I learned the clinic wasn’t open and the doctor wouldn’t be in until later in the week. I could have rescheduled but I didn’t. I want assurances that no one can give and the truth is, I really don’t know what I want right now. I have options but no real plan. Family has been such a traumatic experience for me and whenever I’m with my family, I remember why I moved to another country twenty years ago. But no woman is an island. I had brunch with a good friend a few months back; her work life has made it difficult to find time to write, but she’s a great mother and a successful professional so it surprised me to hear her say, “Sometimes I look at my life and ask myself, ‘Is this it?'”

I want to be more like that butterfly in the garden. I’m a creature of habit and probably won’t ever run out of story ideas, but do I want to do what I’m doing now for another forty years? I don’t know. So I decided maybe this weekend I should work on a five-year plan. Fifty people were slaughtered in another mass shooting in Orlando, emphasizing just how inhospitable the US has become for many of us. Do I see myself living here—in my beloved Brooklyn, in my cozy apartment—five years from now? I don’t know. If I moved to another country and adapted to a different culture, would I be more or less likely to build a family of my own? History binds me to this continent but what if I went in search of a new world? I might take my baggage with me… Taking a walk with another friend and will pick her brain about what it means to live a purposeful life. Serve others—that matters. Find joy—that matters, too. Avoid risk/pain? Not really possible if you want to truly engage with the world. I may need the rest of this month—or this summer—to come up with a plan, but I’m going to try!