A bug reviled, a bug lauded

It was a typical lovely open mic night at the Balcony Club. Musicians, comedians, and poets alike all took to the stage to entertain, while stylish patrons of all ages stood about, sipping on fancy drinks and making Bartok bar talk.

I was outside smoking a rare cigarette, engaged in conversation with an elderly saxophonist after I’d played some of my own compositions on the piano earlier that evening. After chatting at length about musical minutiae—with him sharing fascinating details from his years as a jazz musician and me offering perspectives from the classical end of things, he asked me something interesting.

“So, you classically-trained cats always seem to have everything so…put together. Even when you’re up there onstage, y’all love having all your ducks in a row. Or at least acting like you do,” he said, chuckling, “But what do you do when you feel like you’re losing your mind?”

I was a bit stunned by the question. But of course, I decided to entertain it, because I entertain everything. Evasion is for the weak.

“Well,” I began, “The short answer is, I drink and then I think.”

“Ah, typical,” he said, “That’s something we have in common. Say, you ever read The Metamorphosis?”

“Yes,” I answered.

He sighed. “Yep. Dude randomly turns into a bug one day and then his whole family treats him like shit. Not only are they disgusted that he is now a bug, but they’re extra disgusted that he can’t make money for them anymore because he is a bug. And then he slowly loses his mind and they’re relieved when he finally dies.”

He paused shortly to take a drag from his cigarette. “I once felt like I was losing my mind. Worst time of my life. Summer of ’94, I lost my job at the bank, and almost instantly, my ex-wife started treating me like I didn’t even deserve to exist. It was crushing. But then after she left, I did some drinking, did some thinking, and found my love of music again. Found the courage to start doing it full-time. Now, my boys and I play all over town. It’s no glamorous six-figure salary or anything but it’s a helluva fulfilling life. And that’s what matters, I suppose. And I don’t feel like a fucking bug anymore.”

I congratulated him for getting out of a terrible situation and finding himself again, and after spending some more time conversing, decided to head home. On my Lyft ride back, I started thinking a little bit about an interesting dichotomy.

At the time, I’d been listening to Beethoven’s Flea Song, his arrangement of a poem from Goethe’s Faust, which, I’d realized, is the diametric opposite of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Gregor Samsa is transformed into a roach and subsequently ostracized and killed for it. His family had tied his worth to his financial contribution to them, and when he could no longer provide, he was shunned and despised. The flea in Beethoven’s song, on the other hand, is pampered and treated as royalty by a foolish king, who takes him in and lavishes him with riches and respect alike. The flea is given free reign, his relatives are welcomed into the court with open arms, and the king’s subjects and advisors are all forced to subordinate themselves to constant discomfort and itching, as the king, blinded by poor judgment, lets the fleas infest and destroy the place with impunity.

A bug reviled, a bug lauded.

I then started thinking about what it really means to be a bug. Small, powerless, afforded no dignity. Both Kafka’s roach and Goethe’s flea embodied these qualities, but with very different philosophies behind them. Samsa as a roach was genuinely at his most vulnerable, psychologically and physically alike, whereas the flea was anything but—wielding his apparent smallness to manipulate the king into loving him and gaining status.

This whole situation is somewhat in the vein of the “would you still love me if I was a worm?” memes on TikTok. As absurd and reductive as the meme may seem, the question at the heart of it is really “would you love me at my smallest and most vulnerable?”. Truth be told, it is a valid question. But it depends on what values are behind your smallest and most vulnerable self. Are you rational and principled, yet in dire straits due to the harsh vicissitudes of life and reaching for real support from the people close to you like Samsa? Or are you a second-hander, weaponizing feigned meekness and weakness in order to winnow your way into positions of power like the flea?

Discerning this difference both within yourself (introspection) and in others (character judgment) are both incredibly vital to flourishing. Face it: feeling small at times is a part and parcel of life. Living in denial of your emotions and feigning strength is nothing more than toxic positivity, and consequently, an evasion of reality. But you must ask yourself—why is it that you feel small or powerless? Chances are, there are things you are not addressing within your psyche, and innermost desires that you’ve left unmet. Not to mention, trauma-based subroutines running in your subconscious that might be taking you for a ride.

A lot is said in the realm of rational philosophy about finding true power, about becoming the largest, most successful, and actualized version of yourself. This is obviously the goal, as there is no valor in victimhood, and man’s purpose on Earth is ultimately to find happiness and thrive. But often overlooked is the dire fact that in order to become your largest self, you must first understand and truly make peace with your smallest self. Who is the puny bug that inhabits your soul? What does it yearn for the most? What is making it retreat from the world, too scared and disgusted to reveal itself?

Truth is, if you do not stop to listen to the bug and tend to its needs, yet still attempt to grow externally, the bug will take the damn wheel. The bug knows truths you are too afraid to confront, thus affording it more power than you could imagine, despite all your attempts to relegate it to obscurity or stomp it out of existence. And the more power the bug has, the more likely it is to use it for evil, for it is fueled not by self-love and acceptance, but by spite and neglect. You will either end up vying for acceptance from others like Samsa, or thirst for power over others like the flea.

So what will you be? A tormented slave, or a craven master? Take your pick. Or maybe…don’t.

How to go about taming the bug is highly individual. I’m still figuring it out for myself, truth be told. From my experience so far, the first step to this is sitting in silence for a bit. Pure silence. Of body, mind, and spirit.

Lock yourself in a comfortable space alone for a period of time, with nothing but a notebook and pen. No phone or other technological distractions. Be prepared to face any thoughts, emotions, or desires that may arise, regardless of how harebrained or momentarily debilitating they might be. They’re all illusions, after all, generated by your mind. They won’t kill you. In fact, it is scientifically proven that every strong emotional response lasts about 90 seconds. That’s all you will likely have to power through, and then, your brain will automatically activate its reasoning functions. Lean into this, and write everything you’ve experienced down, from start to finish. It doesn’t have to be perfect, and whatever you do, do not edit it. You need to come to grips with what your soul yearns for without filter or pretense.

It could be irrational. It could be immoral. It could even be downright evil. You might find that you feel like a failure, are latently jealous of your friend’s career, and want to pull a Macbeth and stab him in his sleep, for all I know. It doesn’t matter. This is you facing yourself—your smallest, most insecure, most vulnerable version of yourself—and you won’t make any progress until you see it all plainly in the form of words staring back at you on the page.

What comes next is objective analysis and action. Do not chastise nor praise yourself for anything you’ve written, but rather, dig deeper to find out where your primal emotional responses stem from. For instance, if you’re jealous of your friend’s career, it is pretty evident that you desire a fulfilling career yourself—which you do not currently have. Then, you must think of what it means for you, as an individual, to have a fulfilling career.

Eventually, as you go down these rabbit holes, which might seem endless, you will eventually come to understand the bug within you and what motivates it. The more you repeat this whole process, the better you’ll get at it, and the less likely it will be for the bug to wield power over you as you try to become the best version of yourself.

Just some food for thought. I’m admittedly still in the process of learning what exactly lies in the dark recesses of my shadow self. But wherever you are in your own journey, just know that the most important part of the process is, well, getting the bug for it. Your inner roach, flea, spider, or centipede will thank you for it later.