I accidentally killed a moth. I was sitting outside, crisscross applesauce, back against a brick wall, sweating under the late May sun; the moth saw the shadowy space underneath my legs and beelined for the shelter with inevitably misplaced trust.

When it disappeared underneath my legs, I moved to see where it went, and the next time I saw it, its guts were oozing out and it was flailing like dying-but-not-yet-dead bugs often do. I must have accidentally crushed it in my attempt to see what it was doing. In this case, curiosity killed the moth, but there was no satisfaction to bring it back.

Just a couple weeks ago, I was standing in my friend’s backyard, surrounded by some of my favorite people and a crackling fire, and holding a mystery drink. From my spot off to the side with a couple others, I watched a handful of grown adults fawn over a giant moth. One person even got the moth to crawl onto her fingers, proving again that moths trust humans for some reason.

It was one of those moments that, even while you’re in the moment, you know it’s a meaningful one.

Earlier that day, I had gotten a new job that I was starting in just ten days. This meant leaving a job that I mostly enjoyed, but more importantly, leaving coworkers that actually became my friends. Not “work friends,” but just friends, no qualifier. I was about to go work at a bookstore, back on track to where I wanted to be, which is basically “anywhere near the publishing industry.”  So I was a weird mixture of sad and excited and overwhelmed and hopeful.

Starting a new job (even one you’re excited for) is freakin’ overwhelming, especially when you have to drive 45 minutes to get there and you’ve got driving anxiety. So it’s not surprising that I was feeling overstimulated during my first week. (To be honest, being there is still overstimulating.)

However, on my third day, I actually felt comfortable enough to do something about it. I love hot weather, so as it is almost June in Nebraska, I decided to sit outside instead of in the breakroom during my break. Hence, the moth incident.

(Side note: It is an inherently good thing to see moths around, because it means the ecosystem is doing at least okay. So I guess that’s a point in favor of Nebraska!)

Being neurodivergent is always a rollercoaster, but that rollercoaster becomes a sky dive when life is also crazy. Like, for instance, starting a new job, dealing with the imminent death of someone in your life, realizing you might have to move back to a city where you were never comfortable being yourself, and seriously entering the dating world for the first time.

This is all to say that sometimes my mental illnesses give me good things, like being able to enjoy a nice day outside. But even these nice things are a little tainted by the thing that made me do them (e.g., inside being overwhelming) and sometimes the outcomes (e.g., dead moths).

Right now, I feel like the scales are tipping toward a net positive in my life, but I also know that this feeling can change at any moment. I’ll continue to think about the giant moth on my friend Julia’s hand, but I won’t forget the moth I accidentally crushed behind the Half Price Books I now call my workplace.

Like The Mountain Goats are “getting into knives,” I’m thinking about moths.

-Ryn Baginski