Downsize. Rightsize. What size?

Ants are amazing. I remember being mesmerized by them as a kid, squatting low to the ground, watching their industrious ways for long stretches of time. I’d follow their trail of bodies to find where they disappeared into the earth, maybe insert a stick into the middle of their path to see what they’d do next. I’d place my head on the ground so that my one eye would be straight in line with an ant dragging huge debris from point A to point B in mighty determination. The best was when I’d discover a big colony. What a wonderous sight, this teaming throng of creatures, and despite their miniscule size, it was always startling to see. It still is. What’s hard for me to wrap my mind around is the fact that only one ant generates all those insects. Queen ants can lay thousands upon thousands of eggs, which is sure a lot of babies and quite a lot of little characters to house and account for.

If you’ve ever tilted up a big rock set into the ground somewhere, you’ve probably at some point come across a surprise flurry of ant activity underneath. They’ll immediately go scrambling to deal with your breach of their orderly world. Perhaps, like me, you’ve compared your living situation with theirs, even though we’re entirely different creatures. I’m struck by how dense their living quarters are, and the profusion of members. I think how stifling that would be if I lived like that.

But then, I don’t know. Maybe I do live like that. Maybe I live among a profusion of members, too many members, and maybe they’re crowding me right out of my own life. Come to think of it, maybe some of these characters don’t need to live with me, probably shouldn’t live with me, and now I’m thinking, “Why do they live with me?”

I have an ant hill that lives in my brain. It has a labyrinth of hallways leading to a profusion of rooms where there are countless characters living and, at times, crowding out my wellbeing. Nothing against them. There’s nothing inherently undesirable about any of them. It’s just that my ant hill would be a happier domain if I had it pared down to a membership that is more conducive to thriving rather than to just getting by, or worse, struggling. As the queen of my ants, I’m responsible for who lives here and who doesn’t. Take a look at my current situation:

(These are just the handful that happened to walk by as I was writing this. This is the tip of the anthill.)

Now, like a proper queen ant, I’m good at what I do. This means I pay attention and keep tabs on the entire colony. If a member lives in my empire, I know about it. I also care about it and think about it, have wishes for it and make plans for it, have hopes and feel responsible for it. Then there are my concerns for it. Sometimes I buy stuff for it. I always give my time to it.

I do this for every member living in my colony. I’m a stellar example of a queen. My reign is comprehensive. I oversee all entities in my colony, every day, and I don’t drop the ball and forget. Some days, given the volume of members and the scope of my investment in them, I notice what a burden it is to rule this kingdom. To be blunt, I realize how much it stinks to be the queen.

The thing about being the queen is that you’re never off duty. It’s the nature of the job. It’s how our trusty awareness works. We are always paying attention to something, tending to something. The trick to a happier reign over my kingdom is to refine it so that the members I take responsibility for move me in the direction of the life I want.

I don’t know about your ants in your kingdom, but mine make it their constant goal to grab my concern, my curiosity, and my time. In fact, that’s the only thing they do. Between all of them, it’s a mosh pit of squirmy competing ants vying for one solitary thing: me.

And since I’m the queen, what do you think I do?

I give it to them. I give the most precious and finite thing I have to every one of them.

Time.

I have no idea how much time of this life I have left to spend, but I’m no spring chicken. I know I have a smaller purse now. The ants know nothing of this. All they know is that I’ll give them my time and attention if they ask. They know this because it’s predictable. It’s what I’ve done! (Such clever ants.) When I tend to all of them, I spread myself as thin and transparent as one of my wings. I don’t want to be like that, a queen with wispy experiences. I want to be like the giant beetle, solid and moving like a confident eighteen-wheeler through life. I want to be someone who gives my best attention to those things that matter most.

You know what this means, don’t you?

I must let some of my little ants go.

That is not going to be fun. But I will do it because I want to have a rich life. I want to be a beetle.

Here goes.

Letting go of Ant #1: Miscellaneous Arts-n-Crafts Projects

Me: Do you know why I called you in here today?

Ant 1: I heard you’re going to kick me out.

Me: That’s a harsh way to describe it, but yes, you’re out of here. But I still love you.

Ant 1: I still love you, too. If we still love each other, maybe we should start on a project together. I have all the materials. Look at these cool photos on Pinterest. Aren’t they so cool?

Me: Incredibly cool. But I’m not spending the time on that. I want to work on my blog and my business. You will find someone else who loves you. Farewell, Miscellaneous. Happy trails.

Ant 1: You know, I can’t explain it, but you really sound like a beetle right now. Anyway, bye.

Me: Bye.

[We wave. We cry a little. It lasts only seconds.]

Letting go of Ant #2: News Concerns

Me: Do you know why I called you in here today?

Ant 2: I just passed Miscellaneous in the hallway, so yeah. I’m getting fired, which is why I brought my lawyers with me.

Me: That’s ridiculous. I’m not dealing with lawyers. You lived here because I let you. I don’t want to pay so much attention to your anxiety stories anymore. I’m not firing you. I’m letting you have a small annex room. No more of this central duplex with veranda business. I’ll pay attention to you as needed.

Ant 2: My lawyer says the annex room won’t fit all the tech equipment.

Me: Your lawyer looks a like a deer tick. Just saying.

Ant 2: He is a deer tick. So, can we still be friends?

Me: Look, I value you, Ant, but I can’t give you free reign around here. Go check out your room. It’s got a mini fridge and pullout couch.

Ant 2: Fine. I’m assuming I get free breakfast with this deal. I’m sure gonna miss you, Queen. You gave me so much time that you’ll never get back. I appreciate that.

[He gives me a big peace sign. I half wave.]

Letting go of Ant #3: My Yard

Me: Do you know why—

Ant 3: I know, I know. You want me out. I heard from the grapevine.

Me: We don’t have grapes out there, do we?

Ant 3: It’s a saying.

Me: Well, anyway, yes. I’m so sorry to have to break it to you, but I want to deprioritize you. I want more for you than I sometimes want for my own kids.

Ant 3: I am your own kid!

Me: Of course. (ahem) What I mean is that I only have so many resources, and I want to start spending more of that on things that really matter to me. What I’m trying to say is, you’re good enough. You’re green. That’s good enough.

Ant 3: What happened to your obsession with the weeds all over me? I thought you were pro carpet-perfect grass. Are you saying that weeds will now be ‘good enough’??

Me: Weeds are just plants growing where you don’t want them to. I read that somewhere.

Ant 3: Hmph. Well. It’s been fun knowing you. I’ll let myself out.

Me: Lawn, buddy 'ol pal, you’re not actually going anywhere. You’re sort of a permanent fixture. I’m just not going to think and stress about you all the time. I’ll say hi, don’t worry.

[We hug. It’s a little sad. But green is green is good enough.]

And so, it went like this. Through the process of freeing some ants, I whittled down my huge resident population to a size that started to feel--how shall I say--amazing. It felt light. I felt light. It felt like vacation in regular life; I could invest in the things I truly wanted to spend my precious time on. When you’re on vacation your suitcase doesn’t carry the weighty surplus of all the superfluous details that your regular life is so willing to haul around. I now made this vacation happen for me at home! It was a vacation of focus and priority. And, crazy as it sounds, it came with free breakfast and a mini fridge.

The next time I turn over a big rock and see a queen ant running around her huge kingdom, I’ll watch the scene with different eyes. I’ll know this queen is locked into a role that is beholden to the process of the ant world. She had to lay all those thousands of eggs, like it or not, and had to work that role. But for me, while I’m beholden to a process, too, the role I play is far more flexible. What a godsend. With my little purse, which holds my little time, I can buy the life that matters most if I want to.

And I want to.