This Butterfly Only Lives 10 Days. Here's What It's Taught Me About Doing What Matters.

There’s a butterfly called the Atrophaneura varuna—black wings, deep red body, flutters like a Gothic ballerina. It lives for just about 10 days. Ten. That’s it.

That fact used to depress me. Ten days? After all that time as a caterpillar, all that quiet metamorphosis, it finally unfurls these stunning wings and then—clock’s out in a week and a half?

But the more time I’ve spent with butterflies—collecting them, studying them, honoring them—the more I’ve realized this: Ten days is enough—if you do the right things with it.

The butterfly doesn’t panic about its short lifespan.

It doesn’t sit there frozen by decision fatigue, wondering:

“Should I go to the lavender bush today or wait until I have more clarity about my purpose?”It doesn’t get stuck scrolling caterpillar Instagram. It flies. It feeds. It mates. It does the thing.

There’s no illusion of forever. So it doesn’t waste time performing, pretending, or perfecting.

And maybe that’s the real lesson:

When you know your time is short, you get serious about joy.

For me, that’s meant:

• Making art from the things I love—even if it's obscure or weird

• Starting a business that mixes science, beauty, and story

• Letting my therapist-brain and my artist-heart live in the same room

• Saying no to things that feel like slow death dressed up as stability

It’s also meant realizing that impact isn’t always about longevity. Sometimes beauty shows up, flutters for a moment, and vanishes—and it’s still valid. Still sacred. Still worth doing.

So here’s my question to you:

If you only had ten days in your final form, what would you spend them doing?

Would you worry about being taken seriously?Would you wait for the right timing?Or would you start now—feeding, creating, connecting?

I don’t think we need to live like we’re dying. That’s exhausting.But I do think we need to live like our wings are already open—and we don’t have forever to use them.

Because maybe 10 days isn’t a tragedy.Maybe it’s just a reminder: do what matters while you can.