in praise of the jackalope
and leaving behind the cat ass trophy
What if?
Great words eh?
Dear reader, so frequently those words are followed by a cat ass trophy.
That’s right.
What if… typically precedes a little grimy pink starfish. Mounted on a piece of wood with a bit of engraved brass below it.
You know - a big dirty danglin’ cat ass trophy.
The ability to attach such an award to the act of imagination seems to be a place where we humans all are pretty super human.
Our ability as humans, to reach out for this tudly little award is staggering.
What if I embarrass myself?
What if I fall flat on my face?
What if I fail?
What if they hate me?
What if things don’t work out EXACTLY as I planned?
Well,
What if they don’t?
What then?
But.
What if your succeed?
What then?
What if you’re better than you imagined?
What would that mean?
What if you discover happiness isn’t a destination, but a place you visit from time to time only to leave then spend some time in anxiety village and depression hollow in between visits to smiley town?
And what if that’s the best it can be?
What if that’s good enough?
What if you left the cat ass trophy at the taxidermists and found a fucking jackalope instead?
Happy hunting, you arseholes.
