No thanks for angst

On a long midsummer walk, the baseball cap I wear serves a twofold purpose: eyeshade and horsefly swatter. When a horsefly the size of a Piper Cub starts circling persistently around my head and trying to land on the least accessible spot on my back, I swing the hat through the air, frantically swatting at the horsefly. You think a mosquito bite in your armpit is bad news? If a horsefly bit me in the armpit, I'd have no choice but to amputate. And so the hat swings jerkily through the air, making me look like a person suffering from severe standing seizures.

The walk itself serves a twofold purpose--exercise and head-clearing--and sometimes a third: giving the dog a chance to bark at the neighbor's donkeys. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it. Hopeful used to bound far ahead of me and then sit and look back with an expression that clearly said Hurry up! Exciting stuff just ahead! But these days she's more likely to sit by the roadside while I walk the last leg of the loop, happy to rest and cut out a little distance. I don't even do the six-mile loop anymore because I can't stop her from following me and I know she'd be limping by the time we got halfway around. These days she takes the uphills pretty slowly--but then again, so do I.

So we know the hat serves a purpose and the walk serves a purpose and the dog serves a purpose, but what about the horsefly? Today the horsefly serves a twofold purpose: give my arms a little exercise and rouse me from a bad case of midsummer blues. I'd set off on my walk reluctantly, stewing in a funk of existential angst, despair over how little I've accomplished, and panic over what I still need to do before school starts, and I was walking dutifully through the woods with my head down, determined that if I accomplished nothing else of any worth in my whole entire life, at least I'd get a little exercise. So I wasn't paying attention to the kingfisher by the creek, the butterflies sipping up minerals from the creekside mud, or the goldfinches chasing each other from one stalk of Queen Anne's Lace to another, sights that would normally fill me with glee.

It took a pesky horsefly to wake me up and break my wretched mood. Existential angst can't hold a candle to a persistent horsefly that wants nothing more than to land on your damp eyeball, and it's difficult to remain focused on your own petty grievances while you're flailing spasmodically against a horsefly's onslaught. Fighting off a persistent horsefly engages mind and body in a twitchy dance requiring total concentration, quick reflexes, and intense focus on the moment. Sulking would be counterproductive; your entire body aims at one tiny target and swats it as sharply as possible with the hat, even if you end up hitting your own back hard enough to leave marks. Such an all-consuming activity leaves no room for existential angst.

So the horsefly did me a service: by the time I'd won the battle, I felt fully alive, alert, and ready to take on whatever might come my way. Next time I'm in a foul humor, just lock me in a room full of horseflies and see how happy I am when I emerge! I'm sure I'll be showering you with thanks.