Why the "y"?

Since the beginning, folks have asked why we spell Starfysh the way we do. Their question, simply:  “Why the ‘y’?”

I think the answer depends on when they ask the question. In early 2010, for example, my answer was, simply, “The ‘i’ was taken!” Nuts! Someone got to starfish.org before we could. Sounds silly.

Over time, however, as we have proceeded to define our vision of delivering transformation to an island of 100,000 people living in poverty, and then have set out to actually do it, we have heard the question less and less frequently.

“Why the ‘y’?”

• “Well, you know, we are unique. We’re no ordinary starfish!”
• “Well, you see, the ‘y’ stands for ‘you’ and you are what makes Starfysh special.”

Silliness. Truth is, the ‘i’ was taken.

I’m glad it was taken. Doesn’t oddness, after all (ahem, I prefer ‘distinctiveness’), bring a bit of its own value? And might not off-guardedness be a good thing if, in fact, it slows folks down long enough to consider new things?

Three years in, and our name is slowly becoming entrenched. (Google “starfish” and you’ll be inundated with over 14 million results. Google “Starfysh” and there we are, right at the top). It’s all good. Unplanned. No clever branding strategy. No high-priced advertising firm.

Just, the “i” was taken.

Emergence

For as many years as the butterfly exhibit has made its Spring appearance here, not until this year had I taken it in. Not that I didn’t think I would enjoy it. I am rather in to bugs. Ask my parents and sisters. I’m sure they could provide the world with great blog content for some time.

I loved the butterflies, of course, with all their color and flitting and all. But, as in all things, I enjoyed  viewing the greater scene, as if a play on stage. The tall and spacious greenhouse-made-rain forest was misty and warm, well-suited for bamboos and butterflies. Meandering. There was a lot of meandering. Folks going no where in particular. Neck craned and extended. Eyes up and out, never down. Hands stretched outward, hoping Mr. Emperor Swallowtail would mutually consent in ignoring the “no touching” signs.

I caught myself hanging out by the pupae for a long time, just watching them hang there. A few were actively emerging, though it was a long ordeal. Most were just hanging there; their own emergence into adulthood held off for a better day, perhaps tomorrow.

There was no rushing this day. Visitors weren’t checking their smart-phones. The butterflies, no agenda except to please.  And those butterflies-to-be seemed in no hurry to get on with it. No hurry to impress.  Are there lessons here for me?

I think yes. I must chill out and allow maturation and emergence its due time. This is not without its angst, mind you.  I would love to help chicks hatch and seeds push up the earth that covers them. But I must continually remind myself that the journey... the painful, struggling journey is what makes emergence all that much more glorious.