A Writing Exercise I Did Today I Figured I’d Share

I like to play pickleball with my mom in the mornings. It’s not an everyday thing, but when we do, I enjoy it. Every time we play, I always notice the ants on the court. It’s really only when I bend down to pick the ball up, but I always see them scurrying away from the bright yellow sphere and the bottom of my sneakers. I try not to think about how many of them I accidentally step on as I play a match or two. How many do I crush as I return my mother’s serve? Though I try not to linger on the thoughts of killing ants, I pick up the ball so often I’m given no break from the train of thought. I don’t want to cause harm, I just want to play the game. But by playing, I’m inherently causing suffering. I want to enjoy my activity, but I’m ending the lives of innocent creatures. Well, as innocent as an ant can be, I suppose. The morality of killing ants, or bugs in general, is surely debatable, but I just know that it’s not something I particularly want to be an active part of. And yet I am…