I was sitting outside today having a morning cup of coffee and I noticed something. It is the time of year when the spring eggs from the geckos and anoles and salamanders are hatching. Most of the eggs look like tiny whitish-greenish balls stuck under leaves and blend in well (thanks Darwin). I happened to see one this morning just as the baby anole was starting to emerge. It was struggling, it’s egg tooth pushing and cutting and it was fighting with all its might to escape and be born.
You can’t help them. Even if you did have some technical way of actually providing assistance they would never understand and they’d just see this huge, overly hairy thing trying to mess with them and freak. So you just have to watch. You can only sit there and cheer them on, hope they make it, and witness it. That is all you can do.
Sometimes, when I am writing, I swear I see that same look from my girlfriend. That same pained “I wish I could help you through it but can’t” look I give the lizards. I know that at times when I am struggling with a passage or area or just with the writing in general she watches and wishes and hopes for me, but she can’t do anything. All she can do is witness it. That has to be hard to do for her. To watch someone she loves struggling and know that she can’t do anything to ease the struggle. The process is mine and I have to own it.
So I sat back and watched the lizard extricate itself in a long and arduous struggle and sipped my coffee. All the while I kept thinking, I bet she doesn’t know that I see those looks. . . that I don’t know she is watching, hoping, wishing she could help. Maybe I should find some way of telling her that I know.
The coffee, by the way, was Blue Mountain Blend from Fresh Market and was amazingly tasty today.