I’m watching a spider.
She’s hard at work in the corner of our bedroom behind the door, creating a masterpiece.
I’ve just opened my eyes after sleep, and observe from the bed as the fine, silvery strands are woven – stretching from the door to the wall.
I admire her work, but I know something she doesn’t.
Soon, very soon, I’m going to get up and open the bedroom door to begin the day. And due to an unfortunate choice of location, this cobwebby masterpiece will be destroyed.
I lay there pondering the spider’s reaction to this sort of unexpected crisis.
Then I realise – there won’t be any reaction.
The spider won’t shake her spindly legs in fury, cursing the gods and her bad luck. She won’t fall into a deep despondency, relying on comfort food and mind-numbing movies to ease the regret of losing something that cost a lot of effort.
I know exactly what the spider is going to do.
She’s going to take a long-legged wander over to another corner of the room, and start again. Strand by strand, persevering until the web is finally complete.
It’s the same with everything you observe in nature – nature doesn’t know how to give up. Ants keep marching, trees keep finding a route to the sun, moss continues slowly climbing over rocks until it creates a carpet of green.
I’m going to remember that spider next time something doesn’t go how I planned, or life throws me a curve ball. If the spot I’ve chosen to build a web doesn’t work out, I’ll simply pick a different one and keep right on building.
I’ll learn how to …