Since the beginning of time, nature has been our greatest teacher. From the discovery of fire and the benefits of herbs, to the study of hives and heards applied to human behavior, to the improbable physics of the bumblebee, understanding and learning from our natural world is a never-ending process of examination, exploration, and discovery. And it is one that will continue to result in scientific breakthroughs, and personal revelations, for as long as there are curious, insightful people to observe it.
As an always curious, occasionally insightful person (though it’s doubtful I will ever make any great discovery), I often find myself, when surrounded by nature, observing and learning from the most basic, mundane aspects of my surroundings. When I take the time to be still and absorb my environment, there is always something interesting to note, something fascinating to observe, something remarkable to learn.
Considering the ant and the crumb
I think about the ant and the crumb a lot. It’s my go-to observation from nature. From childhood, I’ve been fascinated by ants–their underground cities, their super-human strength, their absolute dedication to a single task. (I know, tiny brains, chemical programming, blah blah. Let’s just pretend they’re really dedicated, OK?) Whenever I think about the vast knowledge to be unlocked from observing the natural world around us, I think of the everyday occurrence of an ant carrying a crumb.
There’s so much to learn from an ant carrying a crumb. I mean, think about it. The human equivalent of an ant carrying a crumb from a picnic table to the ground and back to its home would be me picking up a cow, say, on top of a 100 story building, descenting that building with the cow over my head, then walking a couple of miles back home with the cow on my back. My human sensibilities and understanding of physics are offended by the ant. The ant and the crumb destroy my understanding of what is possible in this world. And that’s the ah-ha!
Not impossible
When I consider what’s possible–in my personal life, my professional life, the lives of others, the cultures of the various people of earth–I only typically consider that which I’ve seen before. When I consider “possibilities,” I rarely stray far from pre-observed realities. People can’t carry cows down the side of a building. Revolutionary people, on the other hand––genius inventors, business pioneers, rousing activists––dare to dream of possibilities that seem impossible to others. They don’t think it’s impossible to carry the cow down from the building. After all, the ant can do it. Why not me?
That seems silly, right? Unrealistic. Impossible. Just as impossible, I guess, as the civil rights movement of the 1960s seeing any success. Just as impossible as the sci-fi, Dick Tracy style watch becoming a reality in the early part of the 21st century. As impossible as a moon landing or clean energy. As impossible as human equality in our nation and those around the world. As impossible as peace and harmony among all of us who are created in the image of God (aka everyone).
Ant-minded
What I’ve realized by observing ants and humans is that there are people in this world who are ant-minded. That’s not a slight. I admire these people. The ones who make a real difference in the world seem, like the ant, to be laser focused on one all-important task. They are driven, or drawn, like the chemically-induced ant, toward completion of that task. They will risk life, limb, and personal reputation to carry that impossibly large crumb an impossible distance, up and down impossible hills, over impossible obstacles, to an impossible end that then, and only then, suddenly becomes (obviously) possible.
If I’m honest, I’ve never been anywhere near that focused, that driven, or that dedicated. I wouldn’t make a very good ant. And yet, I’m attracted to the ant-minded. I support their efforts and I’m willing to advance their causes. I long to see social change in our world. I enjoy witnessing and taking part in technological advancement. I marvel at the beauty of new artistic and creative endeavors. But I step into and out of those worlds. I’m an ant for a day, and then return to the world of the possible. I wonder if, in the ant-minded world, there’s a place for someone like me–a supportive, sometimes participatory observer.
Or should I just embrace the impossible and become an ant once and for all?