Speeding bugglet

Miss Burberry, sent me the most amazing quote today - 'Sometimes you’re the bug and sometimes you’re the windshield.'

Ain't that life. Sometimes I get squished in a second, without warning and end up against the glass in a smear of emotional guts. Other times I'm the bringer of the doom hurtling at incredible speeds destroying anything in my way - life, small insects, males, whatever. But if I could choose, if I could self select my role in this indulgent adventure I'm considering titling 'My Life, take number 438' - what would I choose to be? Bug or windshield?

Big, brash, aggressive and destructive? vs. Small, volatile, poisonous and flighty? Freud, thoughts? What do I think would be stronger, the best choice for survival. What is real strength? A bulldozer or an ant? And how do you define courage that goes along with strength? Because to me it's courage that makes strength stand up.

Courage is one of those things we chase and admire in others. But it's in each of us. And granted, we can't be ALL the pillars of strength ALL of the time. But how often can we be one, a few or most of them, for one person, a few people or everyone? I think courage has to manifest itself 100 ways in every second of the day. It's going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm for the task. Without losing hope or belief. It's being the only one who knows you’re absolutely terrified. I guess, usually right before the bug/windshield moment of impact. Strength is somehow holding it all together when all you want to do is fall apart. And it's doing it over and over and over.

So back to the question...Which is stronger? The windshield or the bug? Well the diplomatic answer is both, the logical answer is the windshield and the philosophical answer would be the bug. But I'm going to step outside the drivers seat and say the windshield wipers. They mop up the mess, they give the bug a dignified, swift disposal and they clean the slate for that enthusiasm to start again, fresh and new. Only for another bug and another windshield to throw themselves together.

So Miss Burberry, Miss McQueen, Miss Mulberry, or any of the other Little Misses in my life - I'll be your windshield wipers if you'll be mine? Sometimes I'll be the bug, sometimes you, and all of us can feel free to be the windshield with careless abandon. As long as the wipers are there with the strength and the courage to wipe the slate clean we can all start again, as many times as we damn well please.

And maybe along the way we can pick up some hot male car wash attendants! You know, just in case...