The Sting Didn’t Last

Last Friday, I was stung by a wasp.

I was taking advantage of a beautiful day and decided to mow the lawn before the incoming storms rolled in.

As I made my way along the fence, I noticed a couple of wasps but didn’t think anything about it. I hadn’t noticed any nests on the eaves and paid no attention to the small hole in the aluminum fence that was designed as an attachment point for another section of fencing.

A few minutes later, I discovered those holes are perfect nesting locations for the feisty Red Paper Wasp. I screamed after I was stung and my man in shining armor, at least the can of wasp spray was shiny, came to my rescue and made sure that nest was permanently out of commission.

I iced my wound for a few minutes and continued to mow.

Later that day, I pondered the purpose, or lack of purpose, of the wasp, and I began to bemoan the creature that caused my arm to swell and itch. Without any research or thought behind the why, I wasn't exactly feeling charitable toward the creature, and I was glad it was dead.

As I considered the lesson I could learn from the experience, I did a little research and discovered that wasps do have value. According to numerous websites on the subject, they are nature’s pest control, they pollinate (not as efficiently as bees), regulate the insect population, and help break down organic materials.

The next day, the Toastmasters theme was Small Wins, Big Achievements.

My answer was “getting laid off. Twice. The first time was in 2017, which inspired us to move back to Nashville. The second time inspired me to launch my coaching business. I am now three years in and still have a way to go to be where I want, but I love the freedom to set my own destiny. I’ve also learned a lot and accomplished more than I expected.”

What does that have to do with wasps?

All the setbacks in our lives usually lead to better outcomes than we ever imagined. Or at least we can choose to view those setbacks through a different lens. A job loss, divorce, loss of a loved one are never easy. We must take time to grieve those periods, but we cannot let those setbacks define who we are or dictate our futures.

Some setbacks are huge. When my mom died, it took me a year before I made it through a day without crying. When I was laid off the first time, I was angry. The company had derailed the plans I made.

My biggest regret was not shifting my mindset sooner. Within 24 hours of being laid off, we had decided that moving back to Tennessee was very likely. It turned out to be one of the best decisions we ever made. I just didn't have the level of control over the timing that I had planned years earlier.

In a keynote I gave earlier this month, I read a few lines of a poem from Ranisha Masters. She begins her book, “Breathing Life Into Words Where Pain Becomes Power” with a poem to her younger self.

“You don't know it now, but every tear you cry will baptize the woman you're becoming. I know you're tired. Tired of being strong, tired of pretending, tired of wondering if love will ever stop hurting. But don't give up. Not yet. Not ever. Because one day you'll look in the mirror and see the woman you begged God for.”

That poem was written for her younger self, but I think it speaks to all of us. We may not be able to talk to our younger selves, but we can talk to ourselves today.

Tell your current self that setbacks are not the end of your story. The dreams you have are still possible, even if the path looks different than you imagined. It starts with believing in yourself, then imagining success, then laying out the plans to get you there.

And remind yourself that setbacks and failures are the best way to learn. We tend to remember when we mess up and learn not to repeat that process much more easily than when everything flows along without a hiccup.

Back to the wasp.

I won’t say that the sting created a new journey for me or resulted in an aha moment, but it reminded me that pain is only temporary. Thankfully, I’m not allergic, so the slight pain barely slowed me down.

The swelling disappeared within a couple of days. The memory of the sting will probably last a little longer. But so will the reminder.

The things that hurt us aren't always meaningless. Sometimes they're redirecting us.

Sometimes they're revealing strengths we didn't know we had. Sometimes they're teaching us lessons we couldn't have learned any other way.

We don't have to like the setback. We don't have to pretend it didn't hurt.

We simply must trust that today's sting may become tomorrow's story of growth.

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