Chasing Our Insecurity.
We can spend a lot of time chasing a skinny bird, or we can apply ourselves and make the little bastard come to us.
“Insecurity is a waste of time.” Diane von Furstenberg
Alan Watts, theologian and philosopher, once asked an audience to imagine falling off a cliff while holding a large rock. I immediately thought of Wile E. Coyote. He was frequently holding onto rocks while he fell into great chasms, always missing the Roadrunner (fastus bird delictus) by inches.
Next, Watts asked his audience, “Would you let go?”
The obvious answer is yes (I mean, we’ve been screaming at Wile E. Coyote to let go since we were four) yet, according to Watts, most of us hold onto falling rocks all the time. He means symbolically, of course. We can’t all be falling into chasms with heavy rocks. We’d make an enormous mess.
Most gun-toting Americans believe they’re the most secure people on earth, even though “home soil attackers” usually have large caches of arms and ammunition.
No, what he meant was, we’re holding onto insecurities. As we go through life, we grab onto what we believe is important, forgetting that many of these things actually weigh us down — not enlighten us.. Usually these are material items intended to make us feel secure — like really big cars and guns.
Guns are a great source of security, since we can kill someone who makes us feel insecure. Most gun-toting Americans believe they’re the most secure people on earth, even though “home soil attackers” usually have large caches of arms and ammunition. It’s probably just a coincidence, but having more armaments than a small African nation seems pretty insecure to me.
We buy a lot of security in the material sense but, according to Watts, emotionally, it doesn’t help. The more we acquire, the more insecure we get. Everything we own is devaluing. Even an AK- 47 loses fifty percent of its value the minute you leave the store (unless you go back in with a full clip ready to go; then it’s worth whatever you want).
Think of all the money Wile E. Coyote spent trying to catch the Roadrunner. Each time is a disaster, leaving us wondering why he forked out for a canon or a catapault instead of a BBQ Double Whopper.
His famous line afterwards is: “As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.”
And what about our 80 inch televisions and Game Boys? Can we honestly say Wile E Coyote’s acquisitions are any more stupid than ours? Aren’t we hanging onto rocks, feeding our insecurities — at least until we go splat.
And we will go splat — not because we like going splat — but because life is a constant free fall. We’re designed to go splat. We’re like those turkeys on that episode of WKRP. Mr. Carlson wants to give away Thanksgiving turkeys by releasing them from a helicopter. His famous line afterwards is: “As God is my witness, Andy, I thought turkeys could fly.”
Well, no, turkey’s can’t fly, and neither can we. That’s why we go splat. We’re no better than Wile E. Coyote moving that rock to the edge of the precipice. We know the precipice can’t support the rock’s weight. We also know material things can’t support our own insecurities.
It’s also the definition of insanity, but cartoon characters aren’t labelled as insane since they’re cute.
Cartoons may be defined as “characters doing the same thing, over and over, expecting a different result.” It’s also the definition of insanity, but cartoon characters aren’t labelled as insane since they’re cute and, frankly, Wile E. Coyote wouldn’t be much of a cartoon character if all he did was go looking for honest employment.
We forgive Wile E. Coyote because he makes us laugh, even though we know he’s dealing with more insecurities than Daffy Duck or Yosemite Sam (all borderline schizophrenics with a few gun issues).
Have you ever wondered why the Roadrunner isn’t insecure? He’s not hanging on to rocks or strapping jet packs to his back. In the whole cartoon series, I’ve never seen the Roadrunner own a single possession.
He lives by his wits, foiling each attempt on his life, enjoying what is essentially an arid landscape populated by one self-destructive coyote.
Maybe that’s something we should all think about. In our daily lives of hanging onto rocks, are we any further ahead? Are any of these rocks worth money? Can they be eaten? Can they be sold?
No, they’re just rocks, and our insecurities are just insecurities. We can let go of them whenever we want (like we’re always telling Wile E. Coyote to do).
Putting your energy into something productive is probably the best trap in the world.
Imagine if Wile E. Coyote decided to turn his ingenuity into something productive — like building an oasis. How long do you think it would take before the Roadrunner came looking for a drink?
Putting your energy into something productive is probably the best trap in the world. It’s like John Lennon saying, “Success happens when you’re busy doing something else.” Wouldn’t it be better constructing something useful than looking for bigger rocks?
That’s why Wile E. Coyote should have built an oasis. How long would it take before the Roadrunner realized there aren’t too many places to find water in a desert. And if an oasis is tempting to him, think how tempting it’ll be to other creatures. Even meater ones.
It’s like Hunter S. Thompson once referring to his career as “falling down a mine shaft into a blue lagoon.” One day he’s writing books, getting next to nothing in royalties. The insecurities mount, so he turns to drugs, alcohol and guns like any full-blooded Americian.
And like any true American story, fate arrives on his doorstep in the form of a young man named Jan Wenner who’s starting a new magazine. They have mutual interests, mutual concerns, mutual goals.
Maybe you’ll draw an audience, maybe you’ll draw a skinny bird. It’s still better than holding onto a big rock.
Thompson applies himself, writes brilliant articles, then a few good novels. Some get turned into movies. His first book, “Hell’s Angels,” is suddenly revered as one of the greatest sociological studies of outlaw culture.
Ta-da, Thompson is swimming in a blue lagoon.
It’s just an analogy, of course, but you get the idea. Security is all inside. You make it by what you do — not what you expect. Build something, grow something, write something, enact something. Maybe you’ll draw an audience, maybe you’ll catch a skinny bird.
It’s still better than holding onto a big rock and going splat.
Robert Cormack is a freelance copywriter, journalist and novelist still looking for ways to slow his descent (like freelance assignments). His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)” is available online and at most major book retailers. For more information, go to Skyhorse Press or Yucca Publishing.
