Stop! Think... Could a Ladybug Be Self-Actualizing?

In Humanistic Psychology, the highest point a person can reach is self-actualization. You don't get there by accident. First come the lower needs that have to be handled: the body's needs, safety, belonging, and a workable sense of worth. Only after those are met does someone have the room to become fully themselves.

The self-actualized person isn't always who you'd picture. (And since we're on the subject, don't most of us assume a ladybug is a she?) Fame and money rarely sit at the top of the list. Chasing those, especially when it means puffing yourself up or using other people to get there, tends to end with a sour aftertaste and the quiet question, "Is that really it?"

So who is this person, then? Maslow listed several traits that show up in people who have reached that stage. They see themselves, the people around them, and the world with clear eyes, without much distortion. Their attention points outward: they care about problems bigger than their own comfort, they help others, and they want to fix what's broken in the world around them. A sense of duty and a personal ethic usually drives them.

They're also spontaneous, both in how they think and in how they act. Rules and social expectations don't trip them up, but they don't feel bound by them either, so they often come across as open and a bit unconventional. And they guard their independence. Company is fine, welcome even, but they need stretches of time alone to work on what's still forming inside them.

Now, where does a ladybug come into any of this? An essay a friend of mine passed along (one of my honorary "sisters," since I grew up with only brothers) described a ladybug in a way that lines up with almost everything on Maslow's list.

The ladybug in that essay is grounded. She knows where she stands, what she has to offer, and what the people near her actually need. She carries her own idea of right and wrong, a code she wrote for herself, and she sticks to it regardless of what anyone else says she should do.

Once she has learned to do what others call correct, once she can bend to what the world wants from her, something else shows up: a sense of who she is apart from all that. She starts to notice what moves her, and more and more she keeps time with a beat only she can hear. Figuring out what that private goal is takes some looking inward, and that part usually happens without anyone else in the room.

The earlier piece, "The Self-Actualized Lady Bug," placed her in the garden of creation. She's easy to miss in the larger scheme, and yet the plants depend on her for their upkeep, their growth, their health. She works hard for the good of everything around her, often treated as insignificant right up until she's gone and the work stops getting done. Every so often she catches the eye with her bright coloring, which some might write off as frivolous.

She runs on her own motivation while staying tuned to what others need. She knows the right things to do, and she wants to do them.

And gentleman bugs? Certainly.