Walking with Spiders

My husband and I ventured out on an hour-long walk around our community this afternoon. The sky was clear and blue and the temperature neither too warm nor too cool, enhanced by the gentlest of breezes. The outing had all the elements to make it perfect: trees in bud, birdsong, sunshine, and gorgeous mountain views.

But it was ruined for me by spiders.

It seems that spiders were out in unprecedented numbers today. We saw them again and again, and I grew increasingly anxious. Half-way through our walk, we saw a cluster of thirty or forty of them crawling amongst and over each other. While this mass was quite a distance from us, at just that point one crossed our path closely enough so that I could have reached out and touched it, and I squeezed my husband's hand and took some deep breaths just to keep my knees from buckling. The rest of the way home, I twisted a ball of tissue over and over in my palm as I told myself repeatedly: "You can do this. It's really quite safe. You can do this." All I could think about--in spite of the beauty around me--was getting safely into my house (and having a good cry).

I know that such a fear is illogical. I know that the spiders are not really any threat to me. I know, I know, I know. But the fear remains. It ruins lovely walks. It's crazy.

Now, here is what is crazier. It wasn't really spiders that ruined the walk today for me at all. (I saw a few, and simply stepped around them, as I always do.) What made me so anxious and full of fear was not spiders, but people. What really was the source of my dread were the good folks of our community: people alone and groups of people, friendly and disinterested people, rushing and ambling people, dog-walking, playground-romping, young and old people.

I know it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense.

It makes little sense to me, and I'm living it.

(Thanks to this photographer for the spider.)