The hearse.

I tend to be a bit morbid minded but tonight I looked out of my window and down at the street.

I was staring at a hearse.

And as I started to frame up a story about who could have been in that hearse earlier today or who might be in it now, (hopefully no one, given it’s 11pm) — I thought about what it means to live and die to any single person on any given day.

I think about people nearing the end of their lives or those who are unexpectedly taken away, leaving others behind in agony. The dead get to go and the rest of us are left here to grieve, likely in ways that are both healthy and not.

We get to experience the sorrow of loss.

We tend to think extreme emotion has a direct correlation to authenticity and meaning.

We absolve ourselves of unhealthy acts because we are using our emotional intelligence beyond its own capacity, is one way I think about it.

Another is this idea that we are so emotionally intelligent. If we exercise our intelligence hard enough, we will naturally on occasion get overwhelmed enough to eat a slice of cake, again.

Or casually pop-a-squeeze of the whipped cream on our lips as we find our way to closing the fridge door.

In the wild, no other living thing will eat for comfort.

Penguins are not emotional eaters.

The lioness hunts out of necessity. And the lion doesn’t get to eat for fun.

Humans have to do everything in excess. Does it feel that way because enough of us make it true?

That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Anyway.

I tend to be a bit morbid minded but tonight I looked out of my window and down at the street.

I thought I saw a hearse stopped at a red light.

I was looking at an SUV.