The Lizard Who Rescued Me

I saw the wee thing out of the corner of my eye as I sat on the back porch immersed in a book. It moved to and fro on the ledge against the screen, seemingly quite anxious to get out. I’ve never been very adept at catching lizards, always afraid of breaking their tails or being “bitten” (more like “mouthed” according to my lizard-catching kiddos), but something stirred within me to help this mini-dinosaur. After all, I reasoned, it was trapped and frantic. The least I could do was give it my best go.

With valiant effort, I edged closer and with surprisingly quick precision, I cupped my hands over the creature and succeeded in capturing it. As soon as I attempted to scoop it up however, it easily escaped my grasp, tumbling back onto the ledge, where it resumed its frantic to and fro against the edge of the screen. Not to be deterred, I reattempted my rescue efforts. I cupped it again with success, this time focusing on retaining the squirmy critter. As I edged toward the door, it decided to outmaneuver me, wriggling past the two fingers that weren’t clenched, tumbling onto the edge of the two-tiered fountain bubbling beneath me. Again, with enduring determination, I leaned over to retrieve the poor thing. Not convinced of my sincerity of effort, it promptly jumped and landed in the water, where it was sucked under the ledge of the fountain. Stunned, I could only stare down into the abyss with trepidation and fear. When it emerged just seconds later, I scooped it up, hastily carried it outside the porch and let the wee thing go in the garden. Success felt so good!

Later in the day, I related the story to my husband, who looked quite amused. As I finished my tale, with great emphasis on the water rescue and release, he offered only one comment. “You know, Nette, it was probably safer in the porch.” “Oh,” I mumbled, “perhaps.” And that was that.

In the days to follow, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about that “freed” lizard. It had seemed so frantic and helpless, but was it, really? I started thinking about all the times in the past when I had rushed to rescue someone or something without pausing to see if my interpretation of the present moment was in any way misconstrued or flawed. What was it about those situations where I felt I had to step in? Was it initially a sincere motive that became twisted by my own inability to see the underlying reason for my actions? Was it my own unwillingness to bear the discomfort of seeing someone or something suffer? Was it my pride in feeling that I knew better? Had I felt excessively responsible for another’s behavior? Did I feel that not stepping in might lead to a worse situation or a failure on my own part to act?

Today, as I sit here typing, there are two lizards ~ one inside, one outside ~ almost nose-to nose in what I presume to be some type of reptilian communication. They are each free in their own way, in the environments they have chosen to place or allow themselves to be in. I no longer attempt to rescue the wee things from the confines of the porch. I’ve witnessed them catching porch insects (which I mostly leave for them now) and have had the pleasure of seeing one scamper down a beam to drink heartily from a pooled puddle as I watered the plants.

The truth is, if there is a way in (pretty evident by the gap under the screen door), there is a way out. What that tormented lizard didn’t know that day was that while I may have rescued it from the porch and freed it into the beauty of the garden, that wee thing freed me into the beauty of rescuing myself.

Contemplation:

Am I, by nature, a “rescuer?”

If my nature is to rescue, would I find it beneficial to pause and reflect on my interpretation of the circumstances present in the situation before I act?

After reflecting on my interpretation of the situation, could there be a hidden motive underneath my sincere intentions?

Do I need to rescue myself from “rescuing?” If so, how can I channel my sincere intentions into more productive and healthy efforts?

If the psychology of “rescuing” interests you, google The Rescuer Identity or The Rescuer Personality Type.