High-wire Act

Below is just a creative little exercise in anthropomorphism. Enjoy. 

When I step in my stall shower and see a spider on the ceiling, I think to myself, “Look at that . . . a spider hanging by a thread.” I call it a “thread.” However, once I start the water and it begins to fall and rage to the floor and continuously flow down the drain, I look back up at that spider and now think he is up there on a tightrope, doing a high-wire act.

I watch him. He has started to move. He is not moving frantically, but he has started to move. From where he is, he should not be getting wet at all. Still, this is a raging shower and he must feel some moisture. I watch him. First he makes his way into the high, right-hand corner of the shower stall. Once he is there, I say to myself, “Smart spider. Go to the corner, that’s right . . . It’s safer there.” I soap myself up and wash my face. I look up again. The spider is still in the corner but he doesn’t seem content. Some of his legs are moving. He decides for some reason to pass right over me. I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing, but, darn it, he’s going for it. I personally don’t think he is going to fall. Millions of years of evolution have prepared him for this kind of situation. He’s moving. He’s directly above me. I go back to my showering. I’m not looking at him, but I’m imagining him. More specifically, I’m imagining him landing on my head. But then I tell myself, “Chad, is that a crazy thought or is that a crazy thought. Why would the spider want to come down closer to where more of the water is, and of all places, onto your head? That would be like trying to land a plane where the storm’s the strongest. Millions of years of evolution have prepared him for this moment. Do you honestly think he’s going to do something as stupid as land on your head?”

I look up. At first I see nothing, but then I notice that my spider friend has cleared the entrance of the shower stall and is now on the bathroom wall. He did it. He could have just stayed in that corner and remained dry. But something told him that he should do his hire-wire act over the most intense danger -- over the Grand Canyon, so to speak -- to reach greener pastures. And he did it. He did it because he knew he could do it. Millions of years of evolution had prepared him for the moment.