When we decided to move from the “dry heat” of Arizona to the “no air in the air” humidity that is Georgia, one thing we were warned about over and over and over again were the bugs.

Having lived in upstate New York, Oregon, and Colorado at various times in my life, and having spent summers in more populated areas of Georgia growing up, I was pretty sure I knew what I was getting into and pretty sure it would not be that bad.

Those people? The ones who warned us about the bugs? They were not wrong. It is that bad.

I am not a fan of killing things.

I step over the many, many, many ant hills I encounter while out walking. I sweep around them when cleaning up the sidewalk. I scoop spiders up on pieces of paper and relocate them outside. I open windows for wasps who find themselves on the wrong side of the glass. I shoo mosquitoes off my arm. And just tonight I used a plastic cup to liberate a roach from the laundry room where the cat had it cornered.

I do my best to avoid doing harm.

And yet…..

And yet my arms are riddled with bug bites and stings. My legs itch and my feet and ankles are swollen with gnat bites. I am sure I must be anemic from all the blood lost to mosquitoes.

“Is this the thanks I get?” I asked tonight popping a Benadryl and coating myself in calamine lotion.

And that was my lesson.

The lesson I needed to learn.

The bugs do not owe me “thanks” for doing what I believe is the right thing.

It is their nature to bite and sting. I cannot expect them to change their ways and grant me immunity because I did a “good deed.” That is not how good deeds work. It is no longer a good thing if it comes with strings attached, an expectation of mutual appreciation. If I expect a favor in return, it becomes less selfless and more self serving.

The right thing to do is the right thing to do no matter the outcome.

I repeat these words like a mantra and will myself not to scratch.