Dead Bugs on the Windshield Taught Me a Valuable Lesson

Distractions can arrive in many forms — some more visible than others.

Last summer, my husband and I took a road trip to North Carolina, where we spent a few days exploring the Blue Ridge Parkway and Smoky Mountain National Park.

It was the first time we’d visited the state and, in anticipation of the two-day drive, we packed the car with luggage, two computers, several cameras, and a well-stocked cooler. Then, with GPS cued up to our final destination, we headed north.

Fortunately, I love to drive.

It works out great because my hubby hates to sit in the driver’s seat.

For me, there’s something about a wide road, a clear view, and a hot cup of coffee sitting in the console that triggers the alpha waves in my brain. Maybe it’s the change of scenery, the gentle vibration of the chassis, or the sense of adventure and anticipation that zens me out.

Whatever the reason, the pecking order was set long ago and, on the long hauls, you’ll typically find me behind the wheel.

After two long days on the road, with an overnight stop in Savannah, we reached our destination of Asheville, North Carolina.

Breathing in the fresh, crisp air, we reveled in wispy clouds kissing the mountain tops, lush pastures carpeting the countryside, and the vibrant colors of fall dotting the rolling hills.

We took daily hikes in the national parks, following winding trails that often led to sparkling streams and hidden waterfalls — nature in its purest form. Indulging our senses, we absorbed the soothing beauty of the peaceful surroundings, wishing we could extend our visit.

But schedules and deadlines were looming, and after four days of blissful relaxation, it was time to head home.

After sharing a final glorious sunset over a bottle of wine, we re-packed the car and had a good night’s sleep.

Driving south through the east edge of Georgia, the tree-lined highway gave way to patches of farmland, creating a beautiful canvas of living color.

Without warning, a swarm of flying insects descended on the car, breaking my concentration and diminishing my vision.

As a thick layer of small-winged bodies began collecting on the windshield, it seemed I’d parted a curtain of soldier bugs, their kamikaze-like impact leaving a smeary mess of legs and yellow bug-juice on the glass.

And with traffic next to and behind me, I was unable to pull over.

The best I could do was look for small clear patches on the plate glass. I raised up, down, and sideways in my seat, hoping to avoid a collision with the adjacent cars, which had no doubt suffered the same unexpected siege.

I had a decision to make.

Should I turn on the wipers and hope to quickly clear the battlefield with a few swipes of rubber and cleaning liquid — potentially making the situation worse? Or should I leave the current state of the windshield alone and continue focusing on the road?

Uncomfortable with the possible outcomes of either decision, I hesitated.

But instead of overwhelm or panic, my mind offered a distraction — created from the broken and flattened insects splayed directly in front of me.

As my imagination began to form pictures, faces, and scenes from the chaotic patterns on the windshield, my concentration was diverted away from the urgent need to safely keep the car on the road.

Mesmerized by the constantly changing shapes and outlines displayed in front of me, I lost sight of the immediate goal.

It happens to all us — sometimes at the most critical and precarious moments of our lives.

The sudden vibration and thump-thump of the tires meeting the bumpy warning strip on the edge of the highway snapped me out of it.

Redirecting my attention to the road, I immediately switched on the wipers and, with a few squirts of glass cleaner, the mess — and the distraction — was gone.

But the message was received, loud and clear.

We all have goals and aspirations — life plans.

And while it’s important to allow for some flexibility, the occasional surprise — and a seemingly endless stream of new input — often leaves us distracted by unimportant, insignificant, or unrelated diversions.

So I’m grateful to those fallen bugs — innocent as they may have been — for reminding me that the presence of something new, unexpectedly thrown into my path, doesn’t always mean it’s worthy of consideration.

Diversions can waste our time, distracting us from higher priority activities.

And on occasion, they can even be dangerous — a gentle reminder to keep our goals in the forefront, while remembering how easy it is to be swayed by a little sparkle and shine — or bug juice.

© 2020 Jill Reid. All Rights Reserved.

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Jill Reid is the author of Real Life, and founder of Pathway to Personal Growth and Kitchen Spirit. Her books and articles explore life, happiness, self-improvement, health, productivity, relationships, and personal success strategies for living longer and stronger through positive lifestyle choices.