The Lizard on My Wall – A Man’s Quiet Encounter That Changed His Mindset
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It appeared during a restless evening. I was pacing between the kitchen and my bedroom, carrying the weight of a thousand unfinished tasks and a to-do list I hadn't touched. The hum of city noise filtered through the window, and the glow from my laptop cast a restless light.
Then I saw it. A small, pale lizard was clinging to the cupboard of my bedroom. Perfectly still. Not hiding, not hurrying. Just there.
A Silent Disruption
At first, I ignored it. I had emails to check, groceries to put away, and deadlines nagging at the edges of my mind. But somehow, my eyes kept drifting back.
The lizard didn’t flinch or move. Its tail curled slightly, and its delicate feet gripped the wall like it had found the one spot in the world where it belonged.
There was something oddly powerful about its stillness. In the middle of my scattered, over, stimulated evening, it was a living punctuation mark, a full stop.
The Difference Between Motion and Meaning
We often assume movement equals purpose. That if we're busy, we're progressing. I believed it too, until I found myself watching this tiny, unmoving creature teach me otherwise.
It didn’t need to perform to exist. It didn’t rush or overreact. Its value wasn’t tied to doing something impressive. And yet, its presence changed the energy of the room.
I realized I hadn’t taken a full breath in hours. I sat down. And I let the silence stretch longer than I usually allow.
A Mirror I Didn’t Expect
What startled me most wasn’t the lizard; it was how uncomfortable I felt just being.
No scrolling. No background music. No multitasking. Just me, a quiet room, and a lizard that seemed to understand something I had forgotten: that peace isn’t found in the next task, it’s found in the pause.
In that stillness, I noticed the warmth of the mug in my hands, the distant sound of rain starting against the windows, and the fact that I was, strangely, okay.
Gone, But Not Forgotten
The lizard was gone the next day. No sign of where it had come from, or where it had gone. Just an empty wall, and a lingering sense of calm.
It didn’t leave behind answers or profound transformation. Just a subtle shift. A reminder that perspective can come from the quietest corners. That life doesn’t always require fixing; sometimes, it asks only to be noticed.
And now, every so often, when the world feels too loud, I think of that lizard. And I pause.
Because sometimes, stillness is the most powerful thing in the room.
Nadeera Nilupamali
Nadeera Nilupamali
. 300 Stories
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