Men are hunters. We have been since the beginning of time. It's just what we do. That is what excites us. The hunt. Bringing dinner home is just the accomplishment. Man wants to go out into the field with just his loin cloth and his spear. He wants to search around for that one buffalo in the pack that looks like it will resist, but has the most meat on it. He wants to chase down that buffalo for an hour, get the kill, come home, and eat his buffalo while he brags to all his friends about how exciting it was to chase it down and get the kill.
Now.
Imagine me. Slaxor. Primal man. Loin cloth and spear. (Stay on track, ladies). If I'm in my adobe hut scratching myself, and I see a buffalo fall right outside my door, I'll be pretty excited. I'll take the buffalo, eat it, and tell all my caveman friends about how it just came to me. I'll enjoy the buffalo, but I won't APPRECIATE it, because there was no hunt. Now. If a buffalo comes and dies in front of my hut every day, I will still take the buffalo. I will steal enjoy the buffalo. But, one day, the buffalo is going to fall in front of my door, I'm going to step outside, see it, and realize that I'm really tired of having buffalo every day. And without the chase to excite me, there won't be any real allure there for the buffalo. I'll step outside of my hut, see a group of gazelle roaming the field, and decide that I'm going to go after a gazelle instead. Besides, I'll always have the buffalo there in case I can't catch the gazelle, right?
Harsh, but true, isn’t it?
You can't tell me it doesn't make sense.
One more thing.
One more time.
Imagine me. Slaxor. Primal man. Loin cloth and spear. I am not going to the Antarctic tundra to fight a steel-plated dragon that breathes fire and lightning bolts. I don’t care how convinced I am that it will be the best meal of my life. It just doesn't make sense. I can't win.
Find the balance, ladies. You don’t want to be the underappreciated buffalo, nor do you want to be the unconquerable dragon.
