I’ve long identified butterflies with the nurturing instinct. I remember as a deep-thinking six-year-old, I meditated as I rode my bike–asking God if I’d ever have children–and a butterfly immediately landed on my handlebars, as if in answer. I had been, even at six, hyper-aware of my need for control, for making things perfect and right. I considered myself an idealist, and I knew even then that any child of mine–any friend, any group with which I worked–would require me to struggle against that tendency.
Today I was driving away from a harried delivery drop, and I saw a butterfly trying desperately to escape the hatch window in my rear-view mirror. I pulled over, lifted the hatch, and scooped up the little one onto my fingers. I was dismayed to see that it had a broken wing. It clung to me, but I needed to attend to my business, so I set it gently in a clump of grass–even as I had to use the blades to pry it away. Much to my surprise, the butterfly with the torn wing had flown away by the time I left the building.
I thought, how like my facilitation journey. How much like working with groups, who want so much to have the concrete “perch” of results, to rely on me when things are broken; when really what they need is the freedom to bring their whole selves and gifts to the process, and for me to put them in a good place and fade away.
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