Earlier this week, I attended a conference where my girlfriend was speaking. After almost a month on the road for my own speaking engagements, it was nice to attend an event for moral (and tech) support. It’s really enjoyable to wake up in a beautiful hotel without reciting the first few words of my speech or the sweat of anticipation as someone reads my bio. 

I didn’t even have a badge to attend this one so after I got the projector working and everything plugged in, I found a chair with a view of the lake. Fall is creeping into the Midwest quickly this year. The trees along the shoreline each showed pops of red and yellow. I brought my journal to work on “business planning.” Whatever the hell that means, I wasn’t thinking about it. In fact, nothing significant was on my mind. 

Instead, I just took a minute to notice how beautiful the view was. As I stared, I spotted a big orange and black butterfly dancing along the grass just a few feet away from me. I’ve always loved the whimsy of butterflies. I love a good “break out of the cocoon” metaphor, of course.  But I became more enamored with them a few years ago when we lived next door to a former nurse. She was obsessed with these Monarch butterflies. Her back yard was filled with homes and feeders I had never seen before - all for these butterflies. 

One of the fun facts I learned from her is that Monarch butterflies only live 6 weeks.  I find that fact swirling in my head every time I see the orange wings flutter. It’s wild to think that in just one, two-week payroll cycle, 1/3 of their life is over and definitely gives all new meaning to the idea that life is short. Consider this. Every time you see one, it could be the last day of their lives. Don’t you think that deserves a moment of appreciation? 

I’m not some great artist, but I started to draw the wings and the intricate designs in my journal. The butterfly was a great subject, staying just feet away from me for the time I took to outline and define its edges with my pen. I paused to scroll my phone - more out of instinct than intent - to be met by problems that have plagued my brain. Messages that always suggest we’re not doing enough. Quickly, I shut the windows and went back to my sketch. 

As I stopped to take a look at my work, an older man with a cane passed behind me on the walking trail. “Great spot for figuring out the world’s problems,” he said. There I was, wondering what I could feed a butterfly to make it the best day of their life.