I was at my kitchen table when a heard a muffled sound.
It was that staccato of something bumping into a thin piece of metal.
As if by instinct, I turned my head to the left to investigate. My gaze shifted upward to find the area the sound was coming from.
As my eyes reached the track lighting near the ceiling, I found my culprit — a large yellow jacket.
I was instantly paralyzed with terror.
There are few things in life that I fear. Strangely enough, mud is one of those things. (That’s a story for a different time.) But wasps are certainly another.
Wasps are aggressive flying creatures. They have a painful sting. And they often set up nests in areas that people access.
As far as I’m concerned, wasps represent an impending disaster.
And so, as spring approaches each year, I am on guard. I have pest control on speed dial as I head out onto my patio. I walk gingerly as I approach blooming brush or dense wooded areas. For my nemesis could be lurking anywhere.
But this time, the enemy was inside the gates. I was trapped with a wasp, inside my own home.
What was I to do?
I sat there, motionless. Meanwhile, the wasp swan dived from the lights onto the stainless steel door of my refrigerator.
The insect was oblivious to my presence. It calmly rested on the metal.
As I watched it apprehensively, a thought came to my mind.
Leave it be.
I couldn’t believe myself. Was I really going to let something I feared take over my sanctuary like this. Had I gone mad?
But the yellow jacket was leaving me alone for the time being. I could at least try and do the same.
So, over the next hour or so, I followed through on my uneasy truce. The wasp and I co-existed in my home — it on the refrigerator door, me at my kitchen table.
But eventually, the wasp tired of its perch. It flew around the kitchen for a bit before landing on a doorframe. And at the moment its wings took flight, the fear came coursing back through my veins.
So, I spring into action.
I got a can of Raid, cornered the yellow jacket, and shot the spray at it. The wasp fell to the floor and stopped moving.
I didn’t have remorse for what I did.
After all, I’d removed all manner of pests from my home before — even the ones that didn’t fill me with terror.
But as I swept up the wasp and disposed of it, I thought of my initial instinct — the one telling me to leave it be. I considered how I had tried to conquer my demons, and to live with the enemy.
What had inspired me to make such an attempt? Was I going soft? Had I lost the will to take control over my own home?
No, I had not. Deep down inside, it seemed I know what I was doing all along.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
This is a bit of wartime wisdom, perfectly encapsulated in the film The Godfather, Part II.
Proximity to the enemy can yield abundant intelligence. And abundant intelligence can lead to effective strategy.
This is why guerilla warfare has had such a long run of success. Instead of facing off on an open field, guerillas can lurk in the midst of their enemies. They co-exist — at least until they have enough of an advantage to strike.
There is still risk in this confrontation. Casualties remain likely, if not inevitable.
But when compared to continual, open conflict, guerilla warfare can prove more effective and efficient.
And it all starts with the willingness to live with the enemy.
As I write this, we are in the midst of a crisis, as our health is threatened by a lethal virus.
It’s tempting to seek to attack this issue head-on. Or to hunker down until all the danger has passed.
But such tactics are not sustainable. For a virus cannot instantly be stamped out or indefinitely be waited out. It evolves over time.
And so, we must learn to coexist with it. To recognize that its presence might continue in the short term, even as we seek to eradicate them in the long term.
Ideally, we can avoid direct conflict with the virus through this arrangement. But some risk will still remain present.
Even so, that risk is likely far lower than it would be under less sustainable tactics.
Months after my encounter with the yellow jacket, I climbed into the back seat of an SUV.
I had dropped my vehicle off to get repaired. And now, I was getting a ride back to the shop to pick it up.
But as the SUV went into motion, I heard a rustling sound. I looked across the back seat and spotted another yellow jacket. It was exploring the window guard on the other side of the vehicle.
This was all disconcerting enough. But moments later, the wasp flew right by me and nestled on the top of my window guard.
The wasp couldn’t have been more than 10 inches away from my face, and I had no way to elude it. There was no can of Raid to save me this time.
I had no choice but to confront my fears. I would need to live with the enemy.
And so, I sat there for five whole minutes, doing my best to ignore the insect. I was projecting calm — all while quietly freaking out. Each turn in the road had me worried that the wasp would get agitated and sting me.
But it never happened. The wasp minded its own business.
By the time I got to my destination, I felt triumphant. I had committed to living with my fears. And this time, I managed to avoid breaking that commitment.
We can all make the same commitment.
The commitment not to hide from the dangers all around us. Or to charge recklessly right toward them.
But instead, the commitment to pause. To seek out a more sustainable path. And to take it.
It’s a subtle power, this power of restraint. But that doesn’t make it any less resonant.
Yes, our enemies may lie in our midst. But if we play our cards right, they can bring out the best in us.