Many years ago, on a cool autumn evening, I accidentally kidnapped a cricket. It was unintentional, of course. I make it a rule never to pick up hitchhikers, so I was surprised when, about halfway home, I discovered him stowing away on my windshield. At first, I thought he was an untidy package left by a local sparrow, but quickly realized that rarely does bird pooh have antennae.
At first, I didn’t give him much thought, but after glancing in his direction a few times, I became increasingly amazed that he was still there, resolutely sitting above the wipers as his little feelers swayed with the breeze.
At each stoplight I had another opportunity to check on my rogue passenger. He was hunkered down, gently waving his antennae, and probably deeply curious about the sudden unexpected change in scenery. Driving along, I wondered how and why the cricket had ended up there. He must have crept onto the hood while I was visiting with my then boyfriend.
Was his home life so bad that he just couldn’t take it anymore? Maybe he had just finished reading some Kerouac and wanted to experience the poetry of the open road firsthand. Or could he have simply slipped away for some down time, only to be unwittingly snatched away from everything he knew and loved? “Honey, I’m running to the store for a minute. We need bread.” Famous last words. With a sudden twinge of guilt, I hoped that he hadn’t left any little mouths to feed back at the nest.
The shabby grey Dodge I drove at the time was by no means a glamorous mode of transportation (I dubbed it Stallie due to how often the damn thing crapped out), but whatever his reasons may have been, the cricket was doggedly clinging to it for dear life.
Growing rapidly more invested in his journey, I tried slowing down to prevent my new friend from getting blown off the windshield, but I could tell by the angry headlights on my bumper that my caution was not appreciated by the driver behind me. How aerodynamic were crickets anyway? Hang on, Jiminy. We’re almost home. “He’s a tough little bugger,” I thought to myself. “He’s got more determination than some people I know.“
As I pulled up to the curb in front of my house, I had one last chance to make sure my chirpy friend was still safe, and sure enough, there he sat, inquisitively looking around at his new home. I hoped he liked his new neighborhood and welcomed the chance for a fresh start.
I left the headlights on for a while, just watching him, feeling truly relieved that he had safely completed the journey. I wondered what his next move would be. He had a whole new world to explore, an entire treasure box of experience waiting to be opened. I thought about what my reaction would be if I had been in his place. Could I handle the pressure of such a drastic change, or would I merely get blown off the windshield?
On the evening of my ride with Jiminy, it just so happened that I was approaching an inflection point in my own life. Within a few short months I had dumped the very boyfriend I had been visiting that night, quit the minimum wage job that I hated and got one that I loved, and went back to college to finish my degree in English, while somehow managing to work 40 hours a week while going to school full-time. Two years later I met my husband, which is funny because I never wanted to get married.
Then came the career shift, and I started working in the mental health field. Grad school was the obvious next step, and again I managed to work full-time while getting my degree. As if I hadn’t tortured myself enough, I decided to pursue my PhD, while also leaving the agency I had been with for 10 years to start a private therapy practice.
I’m not rehashing my professional and academic history to brag about what a remarkable human being I am (although I am a delight). During those times, I felt like the cricket – clinging wildly, antennae flailing, trying not to get flattened by the wind. Life continued to happen underneath the challenges, and progress often felt really hard. Sacrifices were made, and there was quite a bit of tantruming involved, but in all of it I learned so much about myself and what I was capable of achieving.
Like my little cricket friend, it sometimes felt like I was clinging to a windshield as forces bore down and tried to fling me into the void. If I’m being honest, it can still feel that way from time to time. I chose to hang on though, and after finding myself in new and strange places, as hard as it sometimes was, I created a life that had joy and meaning.
It has been almost 25 years since I inadvertently abducted that cricket, but every once in a while, he’ll cross my mind, usually when I’m feeling pensive or simply flipping back through the earlier chapters of my story. Who would have thought that a noisy little insect would have played such a big role.
He taught me that whether we hold tight and arrive somewhere unfamiliar, or let go and allow ourselves to be flung, we still have to choose what kind of landing to make. Inevitably, life will surprise us with struggle. So when people tell me that they’re afraid the other shoe will drop (or in my case get stuck on a windshield), I say, “Of course it will. It always does.” The question is: what do we do at the moment of impact?