It’s been no shy fact of mine that I have a pretty almost irrational fear of insects. Of the flying variety, the crawling variety. My fear and paranoia knew of no limits.
I recently moved into my first apartment. And living on my own so far has been a wonderful challenge. I keep a clean house because I’m already aware that these things bother me. Creatures of a poorly kept house can be avoided. Or so I thought.
Apparently, to a certain extent, they are just a part of life. And all manners of creatures for that matter. The ones we frown upon and the ones viewed as less of a threat.
Recently I came across a roach. A single one and very small. The whole of me froze in protest. How dare such a thing be in my home? I killed it and sprayed enough pesticide in my tiny apartment to kill off a fleet of the tiny crawling bastards. But I was left feeling scared.I was left ultimately paralyzed emotionally by this encounter.
Logic and the collective poking fun of by friends led me to a startling conclusion that made me question my own fear of these things. “I’m bigger than them, what is there to be afraid of?”
In a moment of soul searching, I came to this conclusion:
The roach somehow was a moral failing. It somehow reflected that, in whatever way, I did not keep a clean enough or presentable house. It was an invader.
Though I fought off the invasion as if to defend against a horde of knights, I will keep this perspective in mind. Sometimes, we just have to live life with things outside of our realm of control.
This encounter did not make me any less a person, nor did it somehow reflect something greater than it was. But what I learned was so much more. I guess in a way, I’m almost grateful.