When Life Hands You Bugs Learn From Their Metamorphosis

An Invitation to Release

Aug 07, 2023

An image of a dragonfly made of copper wire and colorful beads pictured in front of a deep grassy green background. — An image of a luminous dragonfly made of copper wire and colorful beads pictured in front of a deep grassy green background. Source: Drawing with Wire: Dragonflies

The Familiar Buzz

In the world of entomology, however, another form of morphology exists: incomplete metamorphosis, which is no less worthy of wonder. Rather than a series of defined, dramatic shifts, incomplete metamorphosis consists of an array of gradual changes over an insect’s life cycle. There is still an egg, larva, and adult, but no pupa phase in which it is entirely undone. Instead, the larva will molt (shed its exoskeleton) many times on its journey to maturation.
— Willow Defebaugh, Incomplete Metamorphosis published via Atmos on February 26th, 2021.

Monday turns to Tuesday, Tuesday bleeds into Wednesday and the bug is still buzzing. Reminding me of all the stories I used to tell myself: “You don’t have the mind of a programmer”, “some people are born with this disposition to code, you weren’t”, “isn’t it better to work in your creative strengths, this clearly isn’t one of them”. The self doubt hums like a familiar tune, as hours turn to days, the days turn into dance. Squirming error messages crawl across the console, one bug is fixed and another appears. Self doubt buzzing uncomfortably close to the ear, I turn the humming into singing — bellowing with gratitude — I know this song! Enough time has passed that I can now recognize this familiar tune as an invitation to get curious.

I often remind the students inside Seeda School, the same amount of time we’ve nurtured the story, “I’m incapable of learning how to develop software” might be the same amount of time we need to nurture the new story that reminds us, “Not only can I do this but I already am”. Surrendering to the grace that is time, Wednesday morphs into Thursday and I fixed the bug in my code as soon as I released it.

Life will hand you bugs. There are a few in my lap at this very moment. But where there are “problems” there are “solutions”. No, where there are “calls”, there are “responses”. Better, where there is a bug, there is transformation.

Bugs of the Past

Of the numerous families of insects that undergo incomplete metamorphosis, perhaps the most remarkable is the Odonata order. Dragonflies demonstrate what entomologists identify as hemimetaboly; they spend most of their lives as aquatic insects, gradually growing and molting underwater until adulthood calls them from below the surface to the sky.
— Willow Defebaugh, Incomplete Metamorphosis published via Atmos.

Reflecting on the bugs of my early twenties: looking for love everywhere but inside myself, workaholism bound up with worthiness, self-sabotaging stories dressed up as safety protocols…each one of these calls were an invitation to transform in response. The self-sabotaging stories still find their way in with their false claims of protection but thanks to the grace of time, my relationship to them have completely changed.

Calling from below the surface to the sky, between 20 to 25 I carried around the story that I didn’t know how to code, even as I was doing it. It was the practice of teaching software engineering that helped me turn those stories around. Incomplete metamorphosis, the stories flew away from the river of the ego and found home next to the stream of service. It was through the pep talks and encouraging words delivered to the students I was learning alongside that I was able to cultivate the same self-compassion I needed. “Maybe this is too hard, even for you” is not only a completely false statement, it’s also something I would never say to a student under any circumstances. Why was I saying it to myself? Through time and transformation, the buzzing became a song. Dancing to the tune of curiosity, asking every bug I meet, “What are you trying to teach me?”.

Release As Reaction

Known as nymphs or naiads, aquatic dragonfly larvae spend anywhere from a few months to five years developing underwater, depending on the species. On average, a nymph will molt between six to 15 times until it is fully grown, each time taking on more of a resemblance to its eventual resplendence. When it is ready for its final transfiguration, it climbs out of the water, begins to breathe air, and trades its weight once more—this time, to spread its wings.
— Willow Defebaugh, Incomplete Metamorphosis published via Atmos.

Fast forward 5 years and here I am inviting you into the same dance of self compassion with me. What are the things you’re telling yourself you can’t do even as you’re doing them? What if inside the infinite possibility of the present we turned “I can’t” to “I am”? If the only thing stopping you from tending to your curiosity in code are the stories you’ve been telling yourself, you’re not alone. I was there just 5 years ago and many learners at Seeda School are working through these stories inside their emerging interdisciplinary practices as you read this.

This letter is dedicated with gratitude to the bug in my code last week. It appeared as I was building a project using React in order to introduce the learners in Seeda School’s Module 4 how to build their own Community Directory using the popular library. I reflected on the library’s name, React. An invitation to be mindful of how we respond to the bugs and blocks which are inevitable in our code, as they are in our life. An invitation to tune into the buzzing with curiosity and react with compassion. If we release, the incomplete metamorphosis is a gift. Oh, you’re trying to teach me how to fly? I’m listening.

Some transformations take place overnight, but not all. Much like the dragonfly, the majority of our metamorphoses are much less momentous, and yet they are equally important to our overall evolution. We grow imperfectly, incompletely. I’m talking about the subtle shifts, the months of molting, swimming beneath the surface, wondering what it’s all for—until the moment arrives when you rise above the water only to realize that all the while you thought that you were drowning, you were learning how to fly.
— Willow Defebaugh, Incomplete Metamorphosis published via Atmos.

What are the bugs that have appeared in your life and taught you how to fly?

Have refelctions to this letter? I’d love to hear from you. Feel free to reply to this email or drop a reaction in the comments.

Until Next Time…

I want to invite you to:

Journey back in time and listen to last week’s podcast episode “Lavender Software Centers Our Body and Belonging” where somatics meets software.
Subscribe to and share Seeda School’s YouTube Channel where I post weekly recordings of the podcast.
Follow Seeda School on Instagram.