What's in a Name?

I’m rather a stickler when it comes to lap swimming; I don’t like to be disturbed. I start and finish without interruption, getting into a stride that loosens up the muscles, creates a breathing rhythm, and most importantly, gets it done. Normally it takes almost twenty laps to hit this stride, so those are the hardest.

On lap fifteen of what I had planned to be maybe forty-four or fifty-four, I encountered the worse case scenario. Lying in my path at the deep end was a dragonfly in the water. I’m a sucker for trying to save a life, no matter how small. I only draw the line at mosquitoes or really pesky flies. I even carry spiders safely out of the house.

I’m the one you will see at the pool with a tiny flying “something� on a finger or hand blowing on it to dry it off. I know this may seem like a stupid affectation to some, but I can’t help myself. I keep thinking about all the time and effort put into the laying of eggs, and the long haul from basic survival to a winged creature. Sometimes this includes complete metamorphosis, that awesome process in which an egg develops into a caterpillar, which becomes an encapsulated pupa from which emerges the beautiful butterfly, as different from the caterpillar as Quasimodo was from La Esmerelda.

The dragonfly goes through a partial metamorphosis, leaving out the pupa stage, but still ends up as an adult which in no way resembles the larval stage. It seems rather crass to not at least attempt to aid a creature that has gone through so much to survive. At least that’s my logic and I’m stuck with it, and that’s okay.

So there I was on lap fifteen, and here was this really neat critter totally waterlogged, wings pasted together, lying on its side slowly drowning. I must admit I did give it a few seconds of thought as I approached. The noise was reverberating in my head something like this: “should save, don’t want to stop, it will drown, can’t stop, wonderful little creature, don’t stop, SAVE THE DRAGONFLY STUPID!� Guess which voice won?

Segue to next take. There I am, arms on the side of pool, with a wilted dragonfly attached to my finger, the only thing it would hold on to. I had attempted to lay its legs down on the concrete, but it insisted on falling over. I blew on the wings but they remained stuck together. This was not going to be a quick fix. I was doomed. I had to stop swimming. Oh cruel world! The horror of breaking a fixed pattern! Why me?

The next half hour witnessed me alternating between blowing, cajoling, praying, begging, and sometimes cursing, but mostly holding my finger up while this fragile creature slowly dried (no, not “that� finger). After awhile I delicately parted two of the four wings, and eventually all four. This required gentleness and patience; I would have been devastated to pull a wing off and face having to put out of its misery that which I was so determined to save.

A wonderful thing occurred while all this was taking place. A very tiny dragonfly landed on the back of the one I held. It was obviously a different species, smaller by at least three quarters, and a brilliant blue, whereas mine was a greenish yellow. This new player in our little drama sat there for maybe a minute or two and then flew off. I certainly don’t understand the normal habits of such insects, but I’d never seen two dragonflies of different species interact in this way. It seemed important, perhaps a sign (of what I had no clue) but there it was. It got my attention.

After another five minutes my dragonfly seemed dry and able to stand, but was doing nothing. What to do? It was time to move on. I got out of the pool and placed the dragonfly on a blue tarp that was rolled up, laying in the shade by the fence. It just stood there, wings spread but not doing anything. This was at least an improvement, so I left it and started my laps once again. Yes, starting with lap one.

Back and forth I swam, and on every other lap I was able to see the tarp and make sure it was still in the shade. My heart sank at one point when I saw a kid perhaps nine sit on a bench nearby. I didn’t trust what he might do if he spotted my charge, but I swam on, hoping for the best. One can only do so much.

After a half hour or so, I left the pool and went over to check out the situation. I was both relieved and chagrined. My little buddy was still there. That was good. It just lay there lifelessly. That was not so good. I touched it with my finger, and sure enough it attached itself to me once again. It was alive. YES!

I went over to a chair and sat with it in the sun, thinking maybe it wasn’t dry enough. It showed no inclination to fly or leave. Again I blew on it lightly a few times, and it fluttered, but stayed glued to the spot. Just as I was thinking I might have to adopt it, I had the urge to stroke the back of its abdomen gently. I’m not sure why I did that, but it was magical; suddenly the wings began to flap wildly and my dragonfly took off into the air and flew away. I was elated!

So what does this have to do with naming my blog? My intuition told me I had found the name I sought, without having had to think about it at all. At first I thought DragonFly, but then I envisioned it soaring off up into the sky and knew it should be DragonFlight. I’ve always loved the idea of dragons, those mythological creatures of great power and intelligence, free and unburdened, masters of their own fate.

I had taken the chance of following my heart, while my head wanted to remain committed to pattern and convenience. In so doing I had saved one small life and I lifted myself out of minor stagnation. I grew a bit larger, realizing what I think is important one moment can turn out to be nothing in the next. And ironically I was given another gift, the name for this blog.

Surely there are two kinds of death; the one we all know and recognize, and the one that comes when we refuse to change, causing us to slowly wither on the vine of monotony and all the roads not taken. Perhaps we all need to revisit our freedom to choose, and choose often. When we don’t, we risk falling into the certain oblivion of sameness, where our perceptions of the world never alter. We all need to discover for ourselves in every moment what is really important.