Today I stepped on an ant. It was black and ugly, its body like three connecting miniature black beans. Of course, I didn’t feel the squishing of the bug, nor did I hear it. I didn’t even know I had stepped on the poor bugger, until I saw the bottom of my flip-flops later that day.
There were a few pairs of sandals scattered around the floor of my bedroom, and usually I let this fly, but today I couldn’t stand to see any more disarray in my life. I picked them up, matched them with their proper sole mate, and tossed them under my bottom bunk, the murdering flip-flop landing upside down so that the little ant smudge was exposed. I picked up the shoe and stared at the lifeless bug, glad to have gotten rid of the crawling pest. I hate these creepy creatures.
But this got me thinking (even ants can be inspiring) about what its like to be stepped on, trampled, shoved, pushed to the ground and just walked on. Anyone, which is probably everyone, who has ever been walked on knows what its like to be squished. We’ve all been an ant before.
I can remember the exact days when I felt like a crawling ant, scrambling to find my way away from the stampede of feet. Looking up, seeing the rubber soles of death, I remember how it feels to be squished. I know what its like to feel miniscule and insignificant, just another bug on the bottom of a shoe. The thing is, we’ve all been walked on, by those we love, those we thought we loved, those we trusted. Now, instead of dwelling on the past tramplings of our dreams, we need to watch where we leave our footprints. We may have accidentally put our shoe on top of a little ant.