Dining with Dread: How An Eight-Legged Lunch Companion Changed My Perspective
I had a picnic with a spider today.
And before you go flipping through the DSM-V to diagnose my brief psychotic break, let me explain.
The past few weeks (Days? Months? What is time?) have felt tipsy turvy. Being quarantined is an extrovert’s worst nightmare. Like creepy clowns, dark holes, and that permanently-falling nightmare.
My world has become so small that I feel claustrophobic. My lack of a schedule and plan has left me feeling lost.
Suddenly surrounded by so much silence, the clamor in my brain has cranked up to volumes that only that kid who drives around the block bumping his tunes while his car shakes can seem to handle. I’m confronted with some of the things that I don’t like about myself. Despite a history of constant moving and traveling, I’m realizing that I may not be as flexible with change as I thought; that it brings out a side of fear and anxiety that I’m not comfortable with. I’m also recognizing that I depend on people more than I’d like for my source of joy and self-worth.
So, today, I packed myself a picnic — chocolate, an apple, and pickled asparagus — and I drove out to nature to sit by a river and be soothed by the consistency of sound.
Cue the spider, entering stage left, plopping himself down on the rock right next to me.
Not just any spider; this guy must’ve been pounding the protein shakes. He (I’m assuming gender here) could’ve been the rising star for a Rogaine ad.
My first instinct was to yelp and flick him to Timbuktu. But then I realized he was just pleasantly sunning himself. He was probably feeling just as cooped up as I was. All of a sudden, he wasn’t so scary. I pictured him escaping his 28 furry children to come enjoy a moment of silence on the rock next to me.
And then I realized how a simple change of perspective could turn something so scary into something beautiful.
The feelings of claustrophobia are suddenly moments to appreciate the comfort of my home. The anxiety of the unknown is now a moment to rest in the present. Isolation is now an opportunity to have a virtual happy hour with old college roommates. The mental ability to change perspective is a choice that feels awfully empowering.
In that moment by the river, I was reminded of how beautifully disorganized the world is, how the times to be quiet can be as powerful as the times to be loud, and how sweet the sunshine felt on my cheeks. Looking over at my new friend, I thanked him for his company.
Pretty sure he nodded back.
Annika Lavoie
Second-Year Medical Student (OMS II)
Pacific Northwest University of Health Sciences