To Hover, To Hold, To Continue: Notes from Dragonflies

How do you stay present and engaged with something that hasn’t yet taken form? 

This hasn't been an easy question for me to answer, but I have been taking some notes from dragonflies, and here's some of what I've been reflecting on:

Dragonflies are often recognized for their ability to hover and shift direction with ease. They move with a disciplined kind of precision that suggests something deeper than agility alone. With two pairs of wings that can move independently, they appear to slip through the air in all directions, including backward, without visible strain. Their nearly 360-degree vision may allow them to respond to their surroundings not with force, but with a kind of focused attunement 

Perhaps this is what it can feel like to carry something meaningful that has not yet come to life: hovering in place, alert to possibility, unsure when or how to move, but still holding shape in the air. It might look like:

Building something piece by piece, while others can’t yet see what it’s for.

Keeping momentum alive in a space with no one on the receiving end.

Returning to an idea again and again, even as the timing stays uncertain.

Writing the plans no one has asked for yet.

Being impacted by something that hasn’t yet revealed its purpose.

All of these, like a dragonfly, are things that can still steady in motion while waiting for the air to shift. At a quick glance, this kind of “hovering: might not seem like much, but in reality, it prepares us to move with intention, not just momentum. To hover, in this sense, is not to remain passive or uncertain. It is still very much an active state that is full with awareness that matters, even before there’s a “landing.” 

Like the dragonfly maintaining lift through precise, near-invisible motion, carrying a dream that has not yet come to life means that your engagement right here in the middle space still matters. It means refining ideas, responding thoughtfully to shifting conditions, and resisting the pressure to move simply for the sake of movement. It means letting yourself “hover” without the pressure of knowing where everything must land right away.

To hover, like a dragonfly, is to take pressure off yourself to immediately convert direction into outcome. It is to remain involved without thinking what you do doesn't matter if you haven't arrived where you thought you would yet. It is to allow structure to form even before you assign it its use. For as we can observe with the dragonfly, to hover is not to pause indefinitely, but instead, to stay ready within motion.

So keep writing things down, even before the audience comes.

Keep gathering the pieces, the things that matter to you, even before you know how they connect.

Keep moving inside the outline, even before it becomes a frame.

Keep hovering.

This state may not be easily observable to others, but it supports the kind of attention needed when new direction becomes possible. Hovering allows for clarity to emerge in its own time through continued presence and careful attention that matters.

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A reflection to carry with you: What lives in the space between attention and usefulness? What does “hovering” over the water look like right now?

-Morgan Harper Nichols