Wish I was a lizard
Lizard’s don’t worry about life. They worry about death. Humans worry about death. Lizards don’t worry about death in the same existential dread way that humans worry about death.
Kinda wish I was a lizard. They seem chill. They’re content with sitting on a rock in the sun like there is no higher purpose in life and I can’t blame them, but honestly, is there? That sounds pretty comfortable.
We often look to the ancient Greek philosophers for advice on how to live well and maybe the worst person to look to is Diogenes the Cynic being most definitely one of the more controversial famous thinkers for his extremely odd behavior, but I can empathize with his adherence to “living simply.”
The man willfully lived like an impoverished dog as a way to demonstrate his contempt for the normal social institutions he saw as a corruption of Man and society. There was a point to his madness. He viewed the street dogs as more virtuous than Man because the dogs could truly appreciate simple things whereas Man was too distracted by frivolities like the obsessive need to “be happy” not realizing that happiness is always there and they’re just too corrupt and blind to see it.
- The late afternoon sun on one’s face
- The sweet smells from the shops in the agora
- Verdant flowers in spring
Return to reality for one sec, being a stray dog sucks. Being a lizard sucks. They worry about death because premature death is always lingering right in front of them. Predators & food. For me, death is permanently at the end, not next Tuesday.
There’s nothing preventing me from laying out on a hot rock. There isn’t. I can make up plenty of excuses about why I can’t, but they’re false reasons. That’s what separates me and the lizard. The lizard uses the hot rock to warm its blood, but I warm my soul.