"THE ITSY-BITSY SPIDER"

Second in the series of essays on Greek myths.

02.04.2026

Lately, I find myself deeply reflecting on gratitude. It’s such a simple word, but its meaning can be more complicated than you expect—especially in a world where it’s easier to measure our lives against everyone else’s best moments than it is to find a missing sock in the dryer.

I often remind myself to be grateful for what I have right now: my health, my home, my friends and family, my “stuff,” and all the ordinary comforts I take for granted without even pausing to appreciate them.

And yet, there have been times when I’ve looked around and seen people who seem to be living on the VIP floor, and I find myself questioning my life choices. It’s not so much envy as it is wondering if I accidentally missed the sign for the express elevator.

Everyone else appears to be zooming upward, while I’m still wandering around looking for the stairs—or at least an escalator that works.

Since I’m now firmly in my Greek mythology era, I couldn’t help but connect this state of mind to one particular myth: the story of Arachne. I rewatched this episode four or five times because, seriously, who doesn’t love an Olympian TV soap opera?

The story is captivating not just because it features my favorite dysfunctional residents of Mount Olympus, but because it mirrors a deeply human experience.

For those unfamiliar with the tale, Arachne is a young woman who is a weaver. She’s not just good—she’s a prodigy. Her tapestries are so extraordinary that she becomes the talk of her village. Her reputation grows, spreads, and soon she’s recognized far and wide. Eventually, she starts believing the hype: not only is she the best, she’s the GOAT—even better than Athena, patron goddess of this particular art form.

Of course, the gods of Olympus are not known for their humility. When someone questions their expertise or throws shade on their divinity, it’s like poking a bear—except the bear is immortal and hungry for revenge.

Enter Athena, goddess of war, with the attitude to match. She disguises herself as an old woman and drops by Arachne’s workshop. Her message is simple: tone it down, girlfriend.

Unaware she’s addressing a goddess in disguise, Arachne claps back, recommending a closer look at the tapestry—followed by a not-so-subtle suggestion for the old woman to chill and “stay in your own lane.” But then—twist!—the young woman challenges the goddess to a contest: whoever creates the most beautiful tapestry wins.

Score Arachne.

Athena doesn’t take this well. In fact, she goes into full war-goddess mode and destroys the tapestry by ripping it into shreds.

Overwhelmed by shame and fear—because offending a deity never ends well—Arachne takes her own life.

Now Athena is sorry/not sorry for Arachne’s death, but there isn’t much she can do about it. The one thing the gods can’t do is bring people back from the dead.

Athena’s uncle, Hades, god of the Underworld, is not about to lose any souls from his kingdom just because one of his relatives can’t control their temper. So resurrection is off the table.

The best Athena can do is transform the dead woman into a spider. Her parting words are something along the lines of: Now you can spend your whole life weaving webs. Good luck with that—and feel free to keep all the dust bunnies you collect along the way.

There are many different interpretations of this myth, but most seem to fall into two camps:

(1) Boasting has consequences.

(2) The goddess—she who has everything—is jealous.

Isn’t that ironic? Those who seem to have it all still want the one thing they lack. Apparently, even gods, are not immune to comparison.

Sometimes, I think we’re all far more like Athena than we’d ever confess. We may possess so much, yet still feel dissatisfied. And when we feel that little prick of jealousy at someone else’s success, what do we do with it?

These are the questions worth exploring, especially in a culture that hands out its biggest trophies—fame, money, access, power, immunity—for ambition and achievement.

I find myself learning and re-learning that gratitude is not just about appreciating what we have. It’s about letting go of the idea that our worth is determined by what we lack.

It’s resisting the urge to compare ourselves to others and finding beauty in our own tapestry—even if it has loose threads or questionable color choices, and even if someone else’s belongs in an art gallery.

It’s also given me a new appreciation for the entire species of arachnids.

Now, when I come across a (small) spider in my home, I hesitate. I resist the temptation to beat it to death with a fly swatter. Instead, I try to catch it with a paper towel and gently tell it, “Arachne, you do you—but not in here,” and I usher her outside as quickly as possible.

It’s a small gesture, but it helps me remember the lesson of the myth. It reminds me to be grateful, to embrace what I have, and to notice the extraordinary wonders woven into the ordinary threads of my own life.

And also because, if there’s an afterlife and the Universe is listening, I really don’t want to come back as a spider.

The image was generated via AI.