C’est la vie!

*warning: necessary vulgar language*

Good and bad. Success and failure.  Celebration and heartbreak.  In all things I crave a reason, a purpose, or at minimum, a lesson learned.  I’ve come to accept this self-imposed mantra in my life.  The once popular, albeit, crass refrain that “Shit Happens” never resonated with me, no matter how many cars sported the bumper stickers.  True, “S” happens, but then what?   What will I make or take from it?  My thinly veiled attempt to justify, manipulate, or accept what comes my way, beautiful or ugly, reveals my yearning to make since of life.

But what is the lesson for the Orange Dog Caterpillar?  Earlier this Spring I was inspecting my small and tender orange tree.  Only 4 feet tall, too young to bear fruit, its entirety can easily be scanned for disease or predators.  Scattered on half a dozen or more leaves were long, black and white globs, globs that looked like bird poop. I was simultaneously disgusted and worried about the bird that obviously was suffering from a gastrointestinal ailment.  And just then, like any good suspense movie, one glob started to move.  The poop was alive!  Oh, the horror!  

I Googled “caterpillars that look like poop” and found a perfectly repulsive picture of my Orange Dog Caterpillar, the larva stage of the Giant Swallowtail Butterfly.  These piles of excrement would eventually become exotic and beautiful.  But get this, the larvae stage last, on average, 24 days; the adult butterfly lives approximately 8 days.  Seriously?!  This can’t be correct.  You spend two thirds of your life looking like crap, morph into your enchanting-self only to flit around for 8 days max, provided you do not become an avian meal, returning, of course, to … yep, bird poop.  What is the lesson here?  Could it be that if someone says you look like shit, it means there is still hope, even if short lived?  No,  I can’t accept this!  It is not fair.  Obviously, I’ve have spent too much time searching for meaning and feeling sorry for the Orange Dogs.  Without mirrors, I hope they cannot envision what they look like; self-realization is not always your friend.  I suspect they stare at their brother on the adjacent leaf and think, “Poor thing, he looks like Mom,” knowing, all too well, what the bumper sticker avows to be true, Shit Happens.

My mantra fails me.  There can be no reason or purpose to look like bird droppings.  Yes, I understand camouflage, and survival, but at what cost and benefit?  Couldn’t the Orange Dog just as easily survive looking like a beautiful flower or even a simple twig or leaf?  

Maybe it is time I stop labeling, categorizing, analyzing and trying to assign a moral or lesson; perhaps it is time to chill and embrace a French “c’est la vie,” this is life, mindset. I would even consider the equally positive Italian “que sera sera,” whatever will be will be, but doing so may cause me to channel Doris Day and break into song.  

What can you do?  C’est la vie!

Que Sera Sera
     Jay Livingston and Ray Evans
     Recorded by Doris Day
 
When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother what will I be
Will I be (pretty) KIND will I (be rich) DO MY BEST
Here's what she said to me
Que sera sera
Whatever will be will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera sera

*Words in all CAPS are personal updates for 
my  future/potential/someday grandchildren 
who will understand that there is more to life 
than beauty and wealth 
(even though they will be gorgeous).*