It’s a small life,
sitting on the bathroom wall,
but the spider loves it.
To him his life is worth
a great deal.
So when someone tries to kill him
to preserve it.
Mindless spider fear:
how like human fear
One of the things I’ve been questioning recently is the value of who I am. My worth. My worth as a friend; as a daughter; as a chorister. As a social worker. As a writer. As a person.
My friends seem to think I have value. Those I love and who love me seem to think I’m worth something. Sometimes I wish I could see myself through their eyes. But I can’t so I have to trust them, and try to work it out for myself. Slowly, I’m starting to come around to their point of view.
Because just as the spider scurries to preserve its life, so I struggled to preserve mine. I kept myself as safe as I could. I stayed safe, and I stayed alive. I chose life: I took my safety and my future into my own hands and I escaped. I faced that danger and I took my freedom.
So my small life is worth something to me, just as the spider’s small life is worth something to him. And my life is worth something to others: the fish and the three guinea pigs who rely on me for their daily sustenance; the cat currently stretched to her full length across my sitting room floor, who relies on me for cuddles and company and an occasional session of the String Game. People too: people who take the skills I offer; people who value my friendship, and who offer me the immeasurable gift of theirs.
I know that my life must be worth something to me, because I fought to keep it. Now I get to live the fact that I must have value to the world.