Bumble bee with visible pollen sacs near the Copper River in Alaska
Most days, my mind is up in the sky, dreaming and thinking. My dad used to do this impression of “the squirrel” in my head. He’d run around in circles, squeaking, chirping, and flailing his arms. He told me he only knew I had a squirrel in my head because he had one too. Whenever I’m sharing all the thoughts pinging around in my brain and my struggle to focus he tells me to “quiet the squirrel”. Something I find very challenging to do.
There’s a lot to think about constantly – how do I chase my dreams, how can I be a better person, what is that bug flying around my head and what is its place in the world? Weirdly enough (or maybe perfectly enough) it’s the crazy never ending squirrel thoughts in my head that eventually bring me to pause. I have a hard time meditating with my eyes closed in a quiet room and feeling really good afterwards. I feel more displaced and empty. But an outdoor meditation, staring at bugs and birds and random critters? That feels right. It’s the spinning whirlpool of thoughts that have guided me to this practice.
The intimidating “bee”
When working at summer camp in Arizona, I’d be sitting outside between programs soaking in the sun, wondering how I would fit my life long to do list in and also take the time to focus on me and my mental health. I’d be feeling guilty for taking the time to pause. At the same time I’d be feeling guilty for constantly thinking about work. My fragmented relationships and the idea that I’m weird and no one can really connect with me would pop in too. Then a strange bug would appear. My favorite of all my seasons was a big, fat orange and spikey nectar-drinking fly. At first I thought it must be some kind of terrifying and very dangerous bee. I mean, do you see it? Bright orange and SPIKEY?! Definitely seems like nature’s warning. I started taking pictures of them and scrolling through Google searches to figure out what they were. I could never figure out a scientific name, just the generic idea that they were flies that drank nectar, but I figured out something even more important.
My search took me through websites dedicated to bees, bee look-a-likes, and larvae. I learned that bees have two sets of wings and look-a-likes generally have one pair of wings. I also learned that I was slightly obsessed with bees and their look-a-likes too. Maybe not quite as obsessed as people who cataloged pictures and created websites, but obsessed enough to be really grateful someone else was that obsessed. More importantly, I learned how much I enjoyed this whole process. The process of finding something I didn’t understand, marveling at it, researching it, and as it turned out somehow stepping away from all the anxious self-questioning thoughts in my mind. It’s a practice I still find myself doing today in two ways:
Enjoying another meditative moment of sorts during a work break at outdoor camp in Arizona
1. I’m able to remember these facts when I see bees now, which pulls me into this sort of meditation. I pause, think of all the cool things I’ve learned about bees, and smile in appreciation of how cool they are. And also smile in appreciation of how my crazy thoughts got me here. My non-stop thoughts usually disperse and I can breathe. I’d spot these bees all over while doing environmental education in Northern Arizona and take a sighting as a reminder to pause.
2. Sometimes I notice something new about bees that gets me thinking and I turn to the internet again for answers. I find myself uncovering more fun facts that connect me to my “meditative” headspace. Last summer in Alaska, I was visiting a friend’s fish wheel at the Copper River when I noticed a bumble bee buzzing around. I paused and appreciated it. Just the other day I was visited over and over again by a bee look-a-like and it was the catalyst for this whole reflection!
Either way, I’ve learned about the balance between my own buzzing thoughts and being able to pause for the small moments. Moments that fill me up with joy, appreciation, fascination and wonder. Not just for the natural world, but for the squirrel scurrying around in my head too.