Butterflies don’t plan. Sure, they might migrate. Winter in Mexico. Summer in Santa Cruz. But they don’t *plan*. They have goals, and somehow they get there, but a seven step plan for success? Nope. Not a butterfly thing.

Caterpillars plan. One foot after another, one leaf after another, they have a plan for their days. Munch, munch, munch.

I met a butterfly today, fresh from the chrysalis. She was still fat – about the width of my pinky – and fluttering around my lemon tree while I was gathering fruit. Made me think about the series I’ve been writing here about butterflies and chrysalises. There’s been so many moments over the last few years where I thought, “finally, finally I’ve broken free. I’m drying my wings and any second now, I’ll fly”.

I’ve had a lot of plans. I’ve had ways to get to this goal and ways to get to that goal. I was a very good caterpillar, and I munched through my days (and through my plans) very effectively. But butterflies don’t plan.

This is difficult for me. I have places to go, skies to dance through, nectar to sip. But it’s not time for plans, it’s time for trust. Part of leaving the chrysalis is allowing change – change that is intrinsically uncomfortable.

I know the wind will take me where I need to go. I trust. But I’ve always planned.

Leaving the plans behind, like leaving the chrysalis behind, is leaving behind my core competencies… only to realize that they were not the core of me, but a shape, a shell, a container. I don’t know who I am in this new form. I have to feel out my wings and see where I go. I must dance.

What controls my destiny is no longer my plans, my feet, my tiny steps – what controls my destiny is my willingness to abide, and to trust. Because I am a butterfly – and butterflies don’t plan.