Dragonfly

The first time I realized the world begged me to pay attention was through a dragonfly.

At the time, I was in my early 20’s and had just broken up with my boyfriend for the second time.I didn’t deal with breakups well (on the other hand, I dealt with them the way any twenty-something would have: I whined like the world was going to end.) My friend Les (who I had met through the ex-boyfriend) told me that what I needed to do was go outside and pay attention to my surroundings.

What I noticed on my walk was dragonflies. I was surprised at how I would walk down the street, blocks away from the nearest water source, and a dragonfly would cross my path.

I asked Les what I should do about the dragonflies, and he said, “Stalk one.”

So I would go out on walks stalking dragonflies. You can imagine how this worked — I would go out walking, paying attention to everything around me, telling the people I ran into that I was chasing dragonflies — most people dealt with that surprisingly well.

I finally got to the point where I tracked a dragonfly — the type that looks like desert camo  — to a flower, where I watched him flex his abdomen. I saw him, really saw him, a fierce jewel.

From that moment, I understood why I needed to look at dragonflies — because they were trying to tell me something.

What?

Pay attention. 

In other words, Les gave me a nice psychological exercise that turned into something more. But he knew it would, because he was the sort of person who believed in nonstandard reality, as I like to call it. Spirits and the like.

But from that point forward, if I see dragonflies hover around me, I pay attention. Not just to the dragonfly, but what’s going on in my life. I start anticipating good things will happen even if the day is dark.

Yesterday, a dragonfly smacked me upside the head, a graceful creature with neon blue on its wings. He smacked me upside the head with a bzzzzzzz as if I needed a nudge.

Pay attention. No, for real.

And so I wait for the revelation.