Why the butterflies?

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I had walked down this street for many years. 

A few shops had changed, but the vibe was evergreen. 

I knew where I was going, and I could navigate the side roads away from the bustle of the main one. 

That strip of concrete could host around half a million people a day. 

I knew I didn’t need that chaos. 

I didn’t need it twenty years ago when I was a mere student navigating my lectures and campaigning work.  

And I don't need it now. 

But despite the familiar setting, I somehow had butterflies. 

That feeling of weird dread. 

Or perhaps it was uncertainty?

I wasn’t sure. 

I’m at this stage of my life where I keep needing to label each emotion to then figure it out.  

And this was labelled ‘butterflies’. 

I’m a fan of butterflies. 

They represent this feeling of being free.

Their delicate nature reminds me of how delicate the mind is. 

They often give me a sense of calm when I look at images of them. 

I even have them as the background wallpaper on my phone. 

But society associates the feeling of having butterflies in your stomach as a sign that you’re anxious. 

It felt quite a conflict to know how I saw them compared to how society explained what I was feeling during this walk - and it was a feeling that just wouldn’t go away. 

Even in the familiar, there was uncertainty. 

I kept walking though.

One foot kept moved in front of the other, and I finally reached where I wanted to be. 

Soho Street in London, just off Oxford Street, hosts a small Hare Krishna Temple run by Iskcon. 

The evening Aarti was taking place as I arrived, and it was packed with devotees.   

I bowed my head and thanked the Almighty.

I apologised too, without really knowing what for. 

I’m sure He’d know.

And then I left. 

I felt freer from something.

But the butterflies remained; keeping me company for the rest of the trip. 

I didn’t know what led us to relate this anxious feeling to those flying insects. 

I learnt that it was first referenced by the American author Florence Converse in her 1908 book called the House of Prayer to describe an unsettling feeling. 

The word ‘butterfly’ (to mean the flying insect) is from the Old English word ‘buttorfleoge’, which incorporated the two parts ‘butter’ and ‘fly’ together to mean a flying insect that was seen to consume butter or milk that was left uncovered. 

We would need to break it down by the two parts further to understand its origin. 

The term ‘butter’ has its roots in the Proto-Indo-European root *gwou to mean ‘ox’, ‘bull’, or ‘cow’, and tyros meaning ‘cheese’ from the PIE root *teue, meaning ‘to swell’. 

This evolved into the Greek term ‘boutyron’ and the Latin ‘butyrum’, meaning ‘butter’, to the Western Germanic and to the Old English word ‘butere’, meaning the ‘fatty part of milk’. 

The other part, ‘fly’, has its roots in the PIE root *pleu-, meaning ‘to flow’. 

This then evolved into the Old German word ‘fliege’, meaning ‘the flying insect’, and to the Proto-Germanic term *fleugon to mean the same. 

We see its evolution into the Old English term ‘fleoge’ meaning ‘a fly’ or ‘winged insect’.

Merriam-Webster notes that the term ‘butterfly’ arrived in the English language before the 12th Century. 

I think I want to keep my understanding and associations linked to the concept of butterflies.

I like how free they are.

And how calming they can be when looking at their images.

But I cannot seem to separate the feeling of anxiety that is associated with them too; because we have had over a hundred years to cement that into our psyche.

And despite how far I travel, and whoever I go and meet, on occasions the feeling just won’t go away.