Sometimes a story says something that a framework simply can't.

I wrote this one a few years ago, and I find myself returning to it, particularly in spring, when the world around us is quietly doing exactly what Eric does in the pages below. Becoming. Not by force, but by surrender.

It came, as a lot of my writing does, from noticing something in nature and feeling that it had something to say about the way we live and work. The caterpillar's predicament is so recognisable. The pushing and pulling. The shouting for help. The conserving of energy for another attempt. The moment, eventually, of stillness and what becomes possible in that stillness.

I hope it lands for you today wherever you are with whatever you're carrying.

Surrender Story: The Struggling Caterpillar

Eric the caterpillar was munching his way through a leaf. It was a particularly tasty one. As he ate, he didn't think very much at all. Instead, he fully appreciated the flavour and texture of the leaf as he chewed it into a soft pulp, easily digested by his little stomach. He gave thanks to the tree for its gift before setting off towards the next leaf.

On the journey, he became aware of how weary his legs felt and found himself wishing the leaves were closer together. When he reached the next leaf his spirits lifted again, delighting once more in the flavours and textures filling his mouth. Yet as soon as it was time to move on, the weariness returned. Lifting each of his sixteen legs, all working together in careful coordination, felt like such hard work. He began to wish for a different way of living. One that involved more eating of the leaves he loved and less of the boring, tedious and seemingly pointless effort in between.

Eric had heard stories about caterpillars having to move from one tree to another and he spent a great deal of time dreading that possibility. The stories had many endings, some happy and others sad. But the common thread running through all of them was the sheer effort required. To Eric, it already felt like too much effort just to reach the next leaf or two. He could not understand why any caterpillar would willingly choose such a challenge.

Lost in these thoughts, he suddenly realised he could neither move forwards nor backwards. He tried moving each leg in turn. None would budge. He pulled, he pushed, he strained and shouted in frustration. Nothing worked. Again and again he tried, and still he remained stuck. Eventually, he sat quietly, deciding that if he conserved his energy, he might be able to free himself later. So he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

When he woke a few hours later, the reality of his situation returned immediately. He could not move. Taking a deep breath, he summoned every ounce of strength he had and pushed and pulled with all his might. Still nothing happened. Perhaps he needed a longer rest, he thought, and so he slept again. This time for many hours. His dreams were restless and strange, and if his legs had allowed him he would have tossed and turned throughout the night.

On waking once more, Eric tried to move and once again none of his legs responded. He considered going back to sleep, but before doing so decided to try something different. He noticed other caterpillars nearby and called out to them for help. They carried on munching their leaves, seemingly oblivious to his cries. He shouted louder and louder until his voice grew hoarse, but still no one came.

He remembered times when other caterpillars had struggled and how he himself had ignored their calls. He had been too busy eating, or had assumed someone else would help them. Now, no one came to help him. He didn't know what else to do. So he slept, and he struggled, and he shouted, and still nothing changed. He remained stuck.

Eventually, when fighting and shouting had achieved nothing, Eric became still. He looked around him properly for the first time. As he relaxed, accepting that his struggle was futile, he examined each leg carefully. What he discovered surprised him. Each leg was entwined in an incredibly fine thread of silvery silk. Looking more closely, he realised he was enclosed within a delicate web.

With nothing else to do, Eric began to notice the world around him. He observed the colours, the movements, and the sounds that surrounded him. Slowly, another realisation formed. He might never get free. This thought led him to reflect on his life. He remembered the joy of the most delicious leaves he had eaten. He also remembered moments of regret, particularly the times he had ignored others in need.

He noticed how often he complained. Even while enjoying the best leaves, he could always find something wrong. When he wasn't complaining about the world, he complained about himself. He was too slow, too lazy, too much of something or not enough of something else. He began to see how harsh he had been.

Over many days, a shift occurred. Eric started to remember the good things about himself. His enthusiasm. His sense of fun. His gratitude. His dedication to finding the perfect leaf and his appreciation for the trees that sustained him. Slowly, he came to accept himself as he was.

One evening, after a day spent fully accepting his own perfection, Eric fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. He slept longer and more soundly than ever before. When he finally woke, he was startled. He felt completely different, both inside and out. He looked down at himself and barely recognised what he saw. Had he died, he wondered?

Where his many legs once were, there were now two large, beautiful wings shimmering with every colour of the rainbow. He was no longer bound by the silk that had once held him. He felt a deep sense of familiarity and yet profound difference. Slowly, he imagined moving one wing, and to his amazement it responded. Then the other.

A gentle breeze lifted him into the air and fear rushed in. Remembering that struggling had never helped before, Eric relaxed into his new body. He allowed the breeze to carry him and began to experiment with his wings. With gentle movements he discovered he could change direction. His vision expanded too. No longer limited to green leaves, he now saw vibrant flowers in every colour imaginable.

As he landed on his first red flower, joy flooded through him. He realised that what he had once believed to be the end of his life had in fact been the beginning of something entirely new. The web had not been a prison, but a passage.

Eric understood that by releasing his old ways, he now had the opportunity to make a difference in the world. To visit flowers, to see beauty more fully, and to experience life from a new perspective.

He did not know what lay ahead, but he promised himself that he would enjoy where he was, in this moment, and trust that what came next would unfold in its own time.

One day at a time.

What is your web?

Perhaps there is something in Eric's story that lands for you today.

Perhaps you are in the struggling phase; pushing hard, shouting for help, trying every combination of effort you can think of. Perhaps you are in the stillness, not yet sure what is forming, but beginning to trust that something is.

Or perhaps you are somewhere in between, not quite ready to stop struggling but aware, somewhere, that the web might not be what you think it is.

Whatever you are in right now, I wonder: what would it mean to stop fighting it for just a moment and look at it more closely instead?

If Eric's story resonates and you'd like to explore what surrendering and letting go might look like for you or your team, do get in touch at alison@alisonsmith.co or find out more about the Landscaping Your Life approach.