A Short Note on Hedgehogs

The other day, I saw a brief .gif of a little hedgehog lying on his back on a soft blanket. They’re small creatures often confused with porcupines because they’ve got spikes all along their backs that they hide underneath when they’re threatened. This little guy, though, had let himself be turned over. Everything soft and vulnerable about him was totally exposed, and he lay stretched out in complete bliss as his owner rubbed his tummy.

I am, of course, a sucker for cute things. I pretend not to be, but anything vulnerable allowing itself to be loved – human, puppy, a leaf of grass probably – reaches right inside my chest and takes my heart from me, as if to remind me that I am poor at protecting my heart in the first place. Poor at protecting myself, most of all, before what I perceive to be helpless.

Of course, I am intimately familiar with helplessness. It is natural that I’d want to protect and care for anyone or anything remotely similar. But the little hedgehog was special. I felt I understood him: he was mostly made of armor to protect him from a world that, mostly, wanted to hurt him. He is small and insignificant. His only real defense is hiding.

And there he was, surrendered to the hands of his owner. He looked so very happy in his little hedgehog way, and it’s true that he was also profoundly vulnerable, but here for once his vulnerability was not a threat. It was a chance for happiness.

I felt at once how much I had to learn from the hedgehog, since I only rarely let myself turn over. It means I avoid getting hurt, but it also means I miss out on a great deal of happiness.