I’m sitting on the porch at home on the Big Island of Hawaii. Our six black cats laze around in the yard. Birds are chirping, the sky is turquoise, and I can see the sapphire ocean through my neighbor’s palm trees.
The cats seem skinny. One is eating a lizard it caught. We really should feed them more than table scraps. I’ll pick up a giant bag of Meow Mix at Costco and then everything will be OK. Will the cats run off to join our neighbors if they’re not fed enough? What happens when they eat all the lizards?
I stand up. I’ve suddenly realized my ultimate destiny. I’m going to overthink and whittle away every idea and experience I ever have. I am a Nimitz-class nuclear battleship and anxiety is my uranium core.
If I’m going to chew the inside of my cheeks for eternity like some Promethean snack, why not think about something bigger than 6 black cats. Like I don’t know, work on climate change or run for president or something?
This was about a year ago, and I look back on the experience with a feeling of relief, purpose, and perspective. Are you lucky enough to have 6 black cats in your life?
(wonderful photo of one of the cats thanks to Shova Ale Magar)