Walking down the beautifully lit driveway the other night, on our way to a social function I spotted them immediately. The butterflies. The ones in the centre of the room where the light shone brightest. They were laughing, sipping their wine and having a glorious time generally.
This was one of the rare nights where I felt and looked like one of them. My stylista friend had generously spent ages with me helping me find the perfect dress to wear. I'd made an appointment to have my poor neglected locks tended to after my Bronze Exam that afternoon. And I was giddy with excitement at the fact that I'd passed my exam that morning and become a lifesaver. I was tressed, dressed and filled with bounding confidence for the occasion.
So we walked into the garden and saw them. The moths.
The ones who hover on the fringes. It's safer in the shadows of the gardens. The oxymoron of moths avoiding light doesn't escape me. But I used to be a moth. I often feel like one, but I if I pretend I'm a butterfly for long enough I am one, if only by association.
I stood and chatted with one group for a while. One moth stood there. Virtually wordless. Time and time again I tried to engage her in conversation. One word responses. I saw her partner at the other side of the room chatting away cheerily to another group.
I glanced over at the butterflies, where I wanted to be. Where tonight I wanted to be. Just this once.
And so my husband and I toured the house with our hostess. It was beautiful, perfect. I was envious.
And then I joined some of the butterflies.
I sipped my wine slowly. These days I'm a one glass girl.
I laughed and joked. I boasted over and over again about my achievement.
And I kept glancing to the shadows.
Still there.
Still silent.
The strange thing was I didn't end up chatting to some of the butterflies. I worried I might not be witty enough for them. I worried that I wasn't pretty enough to be there.
The stupidity of this hit me when we said our goodbyes and one of the prettiest butterflies said sadly to me: "But I didn't even get to talk to you!"
And I reflected on the fact that not once that night had I felt excluded. Not once had I been made to feel silly or foolish.
Our self perception cripples us so often.
I'm learning slowly not to let it.
And as we left I saw her on the fringes still. Hovering.
Uncertain.
And I knew that whilst I had really enjoyed my evening and that next time I would be braver still.
I knew
I knew how much courage it had taken for her to come for the evening.
And next time this would be butterfly will make sure that moths get taken into the light too.
Because it's fun there.