PbyCj

Blog by CJ | PbyCj.com

Amongst the many events of today—of the day—somewhere in between life and lists, I found myself having a full-blown conversation… with a cricket. Yes. A cricket. I don’t know how it happened, but there he was—calm, collected, and absolutely refusing to leave.

I had scooped him up with a business card, thinking I was doing my humane good deed of the day. I opened the door to set him free, but this cricket was different. He didn’t jump. Didn’t scurry. Just stared at me like we were in the middle of something sacred. And I’m like, Bro, I cannot take you home. I already have isopods at the house, a spider in my mailbox waiting to be picked up, and now you?

“Joe Rose is home,” I told him, trying to set boundaries with a literal insect. “You’re just looking at me, and I cannot, bro. What? I can’t take you home. I do not have space for you. My pet will eat you. That’s just how the system goes.”

I tried to let him down gently—literally and metaphorically. “You’re in a good place now. Be fruitful and multiply. I don’t know your lifespan, but I wish you well. Have a good day… go, go, go.” And still, he refused to leave. Eventually, he did, but not before giving me an unexpected moment of wonder, a pause in the chaos.

Because today has been a day.

There’s quite a bit to take in—emotionally, mentally, energetically. But that moment with the cricket was just one piece of it. The real highlight? Joe. My jumping spider. Joe Rose finally arrived, and I got her into the enclosure today. That in itself was a whole experience. She’s super active, doing her own little spider acrobatics, completely different from the isopods who kind of lounge like little rolling rocks and only get going when the light flips on.

It’s wild how much energy can shift when you bring something new into your space. In the waiting process for the isopods, I had picked up a plant. I couldn’t tell you the name of it if I tried, but it smelled amazing. It grew fast—almost overnight—and when it blossomed, it filled the room with this sweet, earthy scent. Had to change its vase because it tipped over and caused a mess, but it was worth it.

And even now, though the blossom is gone, the plant is still very much alive. Only blooms once, but I’m not ready to give up on it just because it’s not showing out anymore. It’s still breathing, still purifying the air. I’ve noticed my room smells different—cleaner, softer. Add in the enclosures, and the whole house is taking on a new kind of scent, something natural and sweet. Not artificial. Not sprayed. Just present.

I wasn’t trying to create an aesthetic. I was just following the thread of what brought me joy. And even with the events of the day, or maybe because of it, I’m especially grateful for these pockets of delight—moments that make me pause and appreciate.

It’s so easy to be overtaken by the weight of what’s wrong, to slip into frustration or fatigue or simply forget that joy is an option. But I’ve been on this intentional journey lately—to carve out joy. To aggressively focus on the good. To refuse to let negativity become the narrative.

Because this—this double-double of a day, this cricket on the card and spider in the mailbox, this sweet-smelling plant and the silent joy it brings—it’s all part of it. The living. The loving. The learning to see.

Even if it means having to tell a cricket no.

Philippians 4:8 (NKJV)

“Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.”