The dragonfly has always felt like the right symbol.
Not because it is soft or decorative. Because it is exact.
It begins in water and ends in air. It lives one life below the surface, then another above it. That alone is enough to make people turn it into metaphor. Change. Adaptation. Transformation. Fine. All true. But what holds me is something narrower than that.
A dragonfly does not move with wasted motion. It hovers, cuts, turns, disappears, returns. Light enough to look unreal. Precise enough to make that lightness feel earned. It carries stillness and speed at the same time.
It belongs to thresholds. Between water and sky. Between patience and movement. Between delicacy in appearance and force in design. It looks fragile until you actually watch it.
That is why it stays with me.
Not as a symbol of becoming someone else. As a symbol of moving cleanly through change without losing shape.
