Brenda Are you a fat cat fighting over scraps, or do you understand that there’s enough for everyone?
This morning, I had the pure joy of watching my kitten, Molly, bring her latest catch straight to the family bed. She has always been attached to my sarong I wore all summer since it was the only thing cool enough to tolerate touching my skin. It has little tassels hanging off the edge, and she uses them like fake nipples to nurse on. Yes, my cat is a little weird. But aren’t all of us trauma survivors a little weird?
Molly is the hunter of the family. Chad likes to point out that in lions, the females are the hunters while the males lie around and accept their dinner. Diego certainly follows this formula. Molly brings her catch into the house because, of course, she has to show off to Mommy what a great hunter she is. If her brother is in the house, he promptly takes it away from her, as he feels this is his right, and he’s almost twice her size. I always feel sad for Molly doing all the work only to have it snatched away and gobbled up in front of her. Maybe the lionesses feel the same. Or perhaps that’s just nature’s way.
The catch of the day this morning is a common one. There are large moths that pollinate but also fly around during the day. I hate that she kills them, but they are her favorite, and there are tons of them! They flutter and buzz enticingly, and she can’t resist. Although she is well-fed, she eventually eats it after torturing it for a sufficient time.
If you ever wanted to see nature’s true “nature,“ watch a cat taunt its prey. Even now, I can hear her chirping and calling me to see the demise of her catch. She is quite proud of herself, as she should be. At least I know I won’t go hungry with Molly to sustain me with … moths.
The village is filled with such displays daily, along with fights to determine who outranks who and thus deserves the small supply of available food. In this village, there are no dumpsters, so the cats have to be sustained by humans. There is safety in the village, but scarcity, too, when the generous tourists head home along with more than three-quarters of the residents. They usually head back to Athens for the winter, to return in the spring to prepare for another tourist season.
With no dumpsters and few people, the cats rely on the generosity of those hardy souls who brave winter on a Cyclades island. The wind is already kicking up, bringing icy cold despite the still balmy temperatures in November. Since the cats can’t be dumpster divers like those in our last village, they fight over what’s available. And there are always new young males to challenge the dominant older ones.
Diego is the newest contender. He doesn’t have to fight and doesn’t start anything, but the other males seek him out. He’s strong, sleek, and healthy. And he’s already a large cat, at only six months old. They know, in their cat minds, that he will eventually kick all their butts and take the “lion’s share” of the food. They don’t understand that he’s one of the pampered few with a family, a home, and all the treats his little stomach could desire. He’s Chad’s cat and has daddy wrapped around his pink toe beans.
They are both our cats, but they have picked their preferred human. Diego adores Chad. When Chad left the island to work, Diego was upset. He acted out and stayed aloof from me for a few days until he adjusted. Then Chad would call, and Diego would bat at the screen or look around in confusion, wondering why his dad didn’t appear and offer him some feta.
Molly is Mamma’s girl all the way. She loves her daddy, too, but it’s me she follows around and wants cuddles and praise from for her kills. I’m the one she brought figs for every day until the rotted ones she brought began even to turn her off. Then she switched to flowers, twigs, and, of course, the requisite moths.
The one time Molly picks Daddy over me is when he’s cooking. And I can’t blame her a bit. Chad is the chef of the home, and while I’m a good cook, he’s fabulous. And generous with little tidbits. It’s a good thing our cats are so active, or they’d be little tubs waddling around with all the treats they get from Dad. It’s no wonder the other cats pick fights with Diego. If I were one of them, I’d hate him, too!
The moth dispatched, Molly is now nursing on my sarong. She is one of the happiest little cats I’ve ever met. It’s like she prances around the world, expecting to be treated well and for her world always to be perfect. She’s gratitude embodied in a soft little coat with a skirt. She reminds me of fme when I was a little girl. To call me idealistic would have been a gross understatement.
What happened to that little girl? Honestly, she came full circle. The world beat her up for a while, but she got over it, began seeing the beauty, and was again filled with gratitude. It wasn’t that life suddenly got perfect; it was that she finally realized it never would be, but if you pay attention, there is much to be grateful for.
Just as the cats struggle and strive for their little piece of the pita, humans struggle and hustle for their piece of what they think is a limited supply of resources. They don’t understand that, like Diego, you could be that happy cat who has it all and isn’t fighting over scraps. There is enough to go around, but most don’t realize this.
Hustle Culture
The hustle culture is ruining humans. We have talents galore, but maybe the Internet, TikTok, and YouTube have brought it out of us because, let’s face it, we’re pretty motivated by money. But what started as fun and thrilling often becomes just another exhausting hustle. Writing is also like that for many.
Who wants to turn their passion into drudgery? But the struggle to survive and get ahead has us pawning our talents to make our “dreams” come true. But isn’t creating our dream? Doing what we love for a living is the dream. Why, then, does it exhaust so many?
Here’s the reality. Hustle culture encourages greed. It’s never enough. You can never get enough views, you can never get enough clicks, and you can never arrive. So even when we think we’re stepping out of the matrix, it still has us fully entrenched.
What if you found a way to participate without selling yourself and your talents to the highest bidder? What if you relaxed and let the process take its course? What if you trusted that your message would be heard by those who needed to hear it, and that was enough for you?
Those are some heavy questions. Why? We have this innate fear that everything will fall apart if we relax our control over the reins.
First off, what makes you think you have any control anyway? How often have you put out a video, an article, or a piece of art and got crickets? We’ve all experienced that. And what do we read and hear all the time from those gurus who’ve made it?
“Don’t give up! Keep pushing, and eventually, your ship will come in.” Or words to that effect. Why do they say this? I wonder what would happen if we all stopped believing them. What would happen if we just lived, did our best, and were satisfied with where we are?
What is this nonsense of which you speak?! Satisfaction? Contentment? Gratitude? Are you crazy?
Probably. But I’m at peace. I love my life.
“Well, of course you do. You live in Greece.”
I didn’t say you had to relax and stay where you are. You still have choices, and you still have opportunities to make your life what you want. I’m only saying you might be going about it the wrong way. And I’m saying you might be missing the forest for the trees. Hear me out.
When you are so focused on managing everything, it gets stressful. Being stressed doesn’t make you feel successful and doesn’t allow you to enjoy it when you are. It’s like feeling like, “Sure, yeah, my article/video went viral, but now that means I have to up the stakes!” Do you see what just happened there? Your dream is manifesting. People are paying attention to what you’re saying and doing, and you’re feeling more stressed and not enjoying the moment because now you realize the ever-hungry machine wants even more of you. And your talent and your mind get exhausted, and it’s no longer fun.
Why do you think Hollywood is on its last legs? They have it all. And they aren’t happy. Kids who make it big at a young age often self-destruct. People with all the money they could want become bankrupt when we could live extraordinary lives on the tidbits that fall from their tables. Do you see? Greed becomes this ugly monster that consumes resources, people, and talent.
I’m not willing to feed my talent to the machine. I have fought a fierce battle to heal and gain access to my gift. Why would I throw it into the void and battle with all the other fat cats out there who don’t care about me? That doesn’t mean I’m going to sit quietly in my corner. Fuck no! I have a message and will speak it loud and clear, but I also trust that it will go to the ears of those who need it and will do something with it rather than consume it and discard it.
I have no issue with social media in general. It means I get to live a peaceful, free life and make a living with my passions. I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds me. I’m suggesting that we approach it cautiously and protect the beautiful gifts we’ve been granted. Stop comparing yourself. There is no one, and I mean no one, out there who is exactly like you.
TikTok is brutal for copying. Sometimes, I get sick of seeing the same video repeatedly by … pretty much everyone. Originality is what draws me. Quirkyness makes me stop scrolling. Why? Because that person stands out from the crowd and says, “Here I am, and this is what I do.” I might not connect with their message because I’m not in their audience. But I respect the hell out of them. They don’t have to have the perfect makeup or big muscles; they are a perfect human. They genuinely showcase their talents and passions rather than copying everyone else.
Now, what about all those lean cats fighting over the scraps? Wouldn’t you rather have the whole meal and leave them to their fight? I know I would. There’s a place for everyone. Do you know how you find it? Stop fighting over the scraps and start being you. First of all, be grateful for what you have and where you are. Unfortunately, there’s a caveat. You knew this was coming.
You have to love yourself to see where your talents lie. Your talents might be buried under decades of self-loathing. I know mine were. I still remember when I was sixteen and received a Miss California pageant application in the mail. That day is still vivid to me. Do you know why? It’s because the first thought that popped into my head was the talent part of the show. I thought, “But I don’t have any talents.” My heart breaks for that young girl.
Now, for those of you that know anything about me, you’ll know that I’m pretty freaking talented if I can toot my own horn for a moment, if only to make this point. As a young woman, I believed with all my heart that I had nothing to offer. Now, as a fifty-five-year-old woman, I realize I am among the most talented people I know. Not because I’m better than anyone but because I learned how to love myself and allowed my talents to be revealed and to grow. I worked with them and made them stronger.
It’s hard work to get to this place. And I can tell you that every second was worth the time, energy, and pain I’ve experienced. And I won’t spit on it by throwing it away and allowing myself to become part of the hustle. I hope you won’t either.
My little Molly is an example of that innocent person, filled with life and eager to share it. Those cut-up and scarred old toms in the village that fight for scraps are the ones who go to bed every night thinking they just need to work a little harder and they need to fight even more, and then maybe their ship will come in. But maybe your ship is fighting the tide and crashing into the rocks of your refusal to let go of the wheel.
Control, pushing, and fighting are not the way to your dream life. The way is surrender. Yes. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s true, and I’ve seen this happen to many other people. The most profound truths in life, in my experience, are all conundrums. If they weren’t, we’d all be making our dreams happen. The truth, the way to those dreams, has to be buried in mystery because only those who genuinely seek it will find it.
And it’s not found in our striving for it. It’s found in us allowing ourselves to be. Just be. It’s powerful but simple, as most truths are. Stop. Sit and allow yourself to be still; that’s when you begin to understand. I can’t explain it all to you. You must find it for yourself because it’s not in plain sight. It’s buried deep inside, along with all those beautiful gifts. If you’ve already found those gifts, that’s wonderful. But are you true to them, or will you sell them to the highest bidder and pawn them for a few bucks?
Hustle culture is dangerous. It’s often the most fun things that turn on us in the worst way. I will keep writing, of course. I will keep putting myself out there for those who need my words. But for the rest of the time, I will live this beautiful life I’ve been given and enjoy what means everything to me. My family. My work. And peace.
Here comes Molly with another moth and her brother close on her heels!
