Advice to Me

I don't think I planned on that one summer being the launch point for my adult life. Who knew that first job my aunt got me the week after my 18^th birthday would keep coming back to me as it has? I had no interest in working as a disability aide, and I guess I still don't, but this is what I find myself doing. I didn't realize disability is so prevalent or that it can pop up anywhere.

I don't think I'm qualified to give “advice to 20 somethings” as is a popular trend floating around blogs these days. I have stories, of course, but what I take away from them is not what you might need. Life tends to keep going in a direction you aren't quite sure you like. I don't know why there's so much disability and violence in life. I guess I was surprised to find it in me too.

I'd give advice to my former self, but even I don't know the end of this story. Life isn't an Adventure in Odyssey; you can't usually make a half hour show with exposition, climax, and resolution. You know in a book it'll eventually be alright, because there's always an ending. Life isn't like that. I can't say for sure which parts will factor into the climax and which parts are just needless exposition.

Someone slapped me in the face yesterday (figuratively), telling me that no matter what my circumstances, I don't have to be miserable. I guess that's true, in a sense. Misery is a state of mind as much as it is a sort of thing that just falls on you, or perhaps that you fall into. I don't say this to downplay mental illness. If you don't know, I have depression and anxiety. People joke that “falling in love” is sort of a misnomer because you don't fall in love the same way you fall into a hole. But you fall into depression similarly to how you fall in a hole; you might be walking along not worrying too much about where you're going and suddenly you're 6 feet under and have no way to get out. Is it possible to not be miserable at the bottom of this hole though? I think that's where the metaphor falls apart. Depression isn't something you can see, like a hole. It's so intangible there isn't usually a clear direction you need to go. That's not to say I have to stay depressed, just that it's not really clear how to not be depressed.

I don't know that I have advice for my former self. That 18 year old girl that spent 4 hours a day watching a low-functioning 10 year old alternately tremble and drool in some ways is a lifetime away. That girl didn't have insomnia, a college degree, close friends, artistic aspirations, concrete plans, a political agenda, a liberal arts perspective, or a sexual orientation. She'd never had to pay bills, manage a budget, repair a car, stay up late studying, or weave through the intricacies of trying to date and not date at the same time. She'd also never really been on the internet. I wonder if the current me would do things differently if put back in that place. If she'd still stock up on snacks in her trunk and spend weekends thinking about doing something besides driving and playing freecell. But no matter how much I wonder, the truth is that I'm never going back.

I think that's one thing I would tell myself. I mean, I'd tell me “you're asexual. It's cool.” But I would also say that it's not worth having all those regrets. Of course, I believe in living life in such a way that I won't have regrets, but sometimes everyone does things that shouldn't have been done. But you can't undo them. I think I'd also tell myself that agnosticism isn't for me.

Maybe I'd tell myself to get as much training on disability as possible. How was I to know that abnormal psychology exists everywhere (to the point that it's not really abnormal)? But that field of knowledge is vast and unpredictable. I think one could study for a thousand years and not really understand it. I don't even understand my own depression and anxiety despite living with it every day.

But you know, 18 year old me knew something that I may have forgotten. She used to dream of a day when disability would be no more. There would be a day when that trembling, drooling child would no longer be autistic. He would have words and be able to walk and run and read and sing and create without assistance. He would be free. And I think that it's sometimes easy to stay in a place where disability is crippling and seems like it'll last forever and that there will never be any hope of freedom from it. But I wonder if this isn't just a cry for redemption?

When the World of Men Falls

There are so many problems. Human trafficking, world hunger, war, suicide, pornography, poverty, global warming, child soldiers, hopelessness, decomposition of family, education cuts, truancy, child abuse, hate crimes, mental illness, racism, terminal illness, chronic illness, rape culture, ignorance, slave labor, loneliness, vegetarianism...

Some couples I know refuse to have children who would grow up in this dark world fraught with danger and heartache. Some parents wish they hadn't had children for that reason. Although of course there are others who don't care much about their children, and many who couldn't imagine not having the children they have (or wish for, depending on the circumstances).

"What can man do against such reckless hate?" (J.R.R. Tolkien, the Two Towers). The world sometimes leaves us hopeless. How can there be a good god when so much Evil is in the world? What can anyone do that could possibly hope to make a difference?

I pose a question I do not pretend to have an answer for. I've been reading too many articles (and watching too much YouTube) with a definite call to action: "Don't buy your children smart phones", "Send your charitable gift now", "Pray", "Eat these 10 things and lose weight fast!" But the reality is that the world is too big for me. I take a stand against human trafficking one day, and the next day everything else I care about is demanding my attention too. The horror of all the wrong in the world bombards me whenever I choose to look at it, sometimes leaving me shivering with nightmares. Sometimes you just have to turn off the news. But then what about her--that girl you could have helped? What about him--the man who just needs a lunch? What about them--the ones who just need a hand to hold? Can we do nothing? Can we let them fall?

Yes, I did watch the Lord of the Rings in a one-day marathon last weekend, but I hope no one gets on my case for plagiarism. (sorry for not giving you the credit you deserve, Peter Jackson). 

Truth is, I care. Caring is hard sometimes. Okay, a lot of the times. It requires effort--to notice the wrong and choose to keep looking at it. To really feel it. To feel the wrongness of it and want it to stop. And then doing something. Doing something is hardest. But only if you choose to care. 

But I can't care for everything. God may have a heart big enough for the whole universe, but mine seems only big enough for one thing at a time. So I care for my family. I care for my neighbors. I care for my friends. I care for my coworkers and clients. And that just about fills up my quota, but I find that I can still care more. For the strangers I meet on the street. 

If you want to make a difference, get off the internet.

Having the Cake (but not eating it)

I told myself I would never publish an update like this, but after publishing the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, I feel like I should explain myself, even if no one ever reads this.

Why have I decided to call myself Asexual?

No one has ever explicitly asked me this. As of yet, I haven’t come out to many people in my life, although I have a whole other identity on the internet. Note that I love having the ability to be anonymous on the internet because it gives me the chance to explore what I really think without worrying that someone is going to be shocked at how I’m ruining my reputation. Or something. Basically, the internet is helpful to me. It’s where I first heard the term “asexual.”

Actually, I guess I’d heard it from a school counselor who asked me what I identified as. We talked about a lot of stuff that day, and he wasn’t very helpful, but I had written on the screening questionnaire that I identified as anti-sexual. When asked to explain that, I said, “I just don’t want sex. I don’t really like the term ‘asexual’ because like moss is asexual, but I just feel uncomfortable about sex and would rather it not happen to me.” A short time later I found the documentary (A)Sexual on hulu, and it resonated with me so strongly that I gave up calling myself antisexual and went with asexual instead, even though I cannot reproduce by budding.

Asexuality, for those that don’t know, is simply the lack of sexual attraction. I personally don’t have experience with much disbelief about it, but when I first realized I might be asexual, in my euphoria, I told a few people, “I think I might be asexual.” They seemed confused and told me, “I used to be like that, but now I have a boyfriend, and the longer we’re together, the harder it is to not have sex.”

To me, this business of desiring sex during a relationship was a novel idea. I had had a boyfriend for about 7 months, and I cannot recall actually wanting to have sex with him a single time. I remember wanting him to hold me. I remember thinking that kissing was about the silliest activity one could spend an hour doing. I remember teasing him to see if he could turn me on. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize I just wanted to be close to him. I wanted someone who would be willing to put his hand on my back and just stroke my hair. That was the extent of what I wanted in our relationship. He informed me some time after we’d broken up that he could feel a lust coming from me, and that it was hard to say no to having sex sometimes, but I never felt that way. I was a bit confused by it, actually, because even though I knew that sexual attraction factored into our relationship somewhere, I had no desire to experience anything involving genitals. (sorry if that’s too much information. Talking about sex is tough when you’re trying to stay PG)

So, the label fits. I’ve thought through it a number of times, and for me, identifying as someone who isn’t interested in sex is a no-brainer. In fact, in the few instances that I’ve talked about my asexuality with people, I usually simply say that I’m not really interested in sex. Most people get that. There seems to be a real hang-up when I go from saying, “I’ve discovered I don’t really want to have sex” to “I’m asexual” though. And this is a mindset that I’m still trying to figure out.

Because of other people‘s confusion with my preference for labeling myself, I’ve grown to appreciate my physical condition of CSS. Because this is not a well-known condition, I shall explain this also. CSS stands for Central Sensitivity Syndrome. It is a condition of unknown cause that makes my nervous system a bit different from other people’s. It’s not life-threatening, by any means, but it results in uncomfortable situations where my skin sometimes believes that clothing is painful, that carrying anything weighing more than a thimble is going to cut me, that there are insects crawling on me, and a number of other things that other people certainly experience, but generally to a lesser extent. I bring this up because it’s a condition I’ve had for a large portion of my life, but it was only diagnosed a year ago. Prior to my diagnosis, I wondered how people could live like strong smells didn’t bother them. When I realized that the difference was that my nervous system exasperated smells to me, it made it easier for me to function in the world.

To me, having CSS and being asexual are similar in one regard. They are both part of who I am. I didn’t choose either, but I have grown up experiencing them, which makes me just a bit different from my peers. Neither is really a problem, but each requires some special provisions on my part, and they request some consideration from people around me. For example, axe body spray? Only use a little. Please.

So, why do I identify as asexual? It’s not a lifestyle choice or a rebellious move, in my mind. Asexuality is simply a word to describe what I was already experiencing. It’s a word that helps me be comfortable as I realize that it’s okay to not be into chick flicks. It’s a word that reminds me that if I don’t want sex, it’s okay. It’s also a word that has helped me find community. Turns out there are a lot of people like me who have half-lives on the internet. These are people who will never tell me, “it’s just a phase. You probably just haven’t met the right person yet. I respect your lifestyle choice.” They’re people who are more like, “so, wanna get some cake?”

I don't honestly expect anyone to argue with me. I guess I could change the phrasing in my last post to reflect that. This concept of “coming out” is sort of weird since most people either don't know or care about asexuality. That's okay I guess. Unless you're dating me or subjecting me to another lecture on the evils of premarital sex. Asexuality is invisible for the most part. No one makes a fuss about asexuality. But no one exactly welcomes it either.

If you've gotten this far, I guess you've done the unexpected. I don't know what that makes you, but it's cool. 

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Someone asked me once what it’s like to be me.

I’m kidding. Who asks something like that? I actually read it in a book. In context, it was about how we often jump to conclusions about people without really understanding what they’re going through, and if we would just listen, we might not be so upset about our differences.

I thought this was a novel idea. Why didn’t anyone care about what it’s like to be me? Surely if they did, they would stop labeling me as a weirdo.

I could tell you what it’s like to be me. I could go into the long explanation. I have many labels I associate with now, although none is strictly accurate. The short story, however, is that I think I’m misunderstood. I can only say that though because everyone is misunderstood. According to an image I surreptitiously stole from the internet this morning, Everyone is fighting a battle I know nothing about. That is to say, humans are really bad at understanding each other, even though we all face pretty much the same thing.

“But you couldn’t possibly understand me! You haven’t been through what I’ve been through!”

Seriously. Human beings have a limited range of emotions. Even if I haven’t been through what you’ve been through, I might be able to get how you’re feeling.

But I didn’t come here to demean your feelings. I personally think that feelings are irritating and misleading, but they’re still real. What I did come to talk about is plastic.

Now, plastic, as a substance, is dangerous to the environment. Plastic is not biodegradable, so it fills up our landfills and kills wildlife. It is also tough, so it kills animals and accumulates in the great Pacific garbage patch. It also uses up valuable petroleum, which drives up gas prices. Plastic has its uses, and they are limited. In general, plastic is bad.

Why on earth would we want plastic in our souls then?

See what I did there?

No?

Okay, I’ll explain.

People are plastic. As in, we are fake. Our whole lives are used up pretending to do things we’d rather not do, or pretending we don’t enjoy stuff we actually like, or pretending we like stuff that we actually despise. Sometimes the overall fakeness of it all is overwhelming, and we’re stuck wondering if there’s actually anything real or worthwhile in this world.

But worse than this is that, even if we realize that we are plastic, we are apathetic. We are comfortable and, while not exactly satisfied, justified in our own minds. We have to be what we are to survive. We have to look out for number one. We have to spend our days doing what is expected of us by ourselves and by society. What other meaning is there to life?

Aside from these distinctly negative associations, it is actually necessary for us to pretend to be people we aren’t. For example, most of us are not law-abiding citizens. We’re just pretending to be. We all have the capacity to break the laws, but due to personal and social constraints, we pretend we would never do those bad things. In this case, it’s okay to be plastic and pretend to be something you might not actually be.

In other instances, however, this can cause problems. See, when we pretend that we have it all together even though we don’t, we make ourselves invulnerable to assistance, and in turn, we view those who reveal they need help as illogical, needy, or sinful.

But somehow I can't admit I need help because I have to keep pretending to be strong, smart, and in control while being funny, friendly, and sincere. But this leaves me stuck in a paradox between the identity that I want to have and the identity that I have to have in order to achieve my goals. I don’t know how to be all those things without compromising who I really am. This is in part because I don’t know who I really am. I don’t know if any of us knows who we really are.

I do know that we’re complicated. I’ve seen movies about high school cliques where you can identify most of what a person is by which group they associate with.

I was home schooled. I was never labeled as a part of any particular group. I was never told I couldn’t like something because it didn’t suit my type. I was allowed to like punk rock, ballet, gardening, and video games. It was like being in kindergarten, except I was actually good at the stuff I tried.

I admit, though, that since I’ve never been to an actual high school, there is a distinct possibility that I am misunderstanding the social structure. All I know is that I don’t fit in. People can label me, but I always deviate from the expected. But everyone does that, even if only a little.

Despite this, you won’t hear me say that we’re all the same. We’re not all the same. If we’re all the same, then what’s the point of being a deviant? What I am saying, though, is that we all have similarities in our core. There are core differences as well, and certainly an abundance of shallow differences, but there is something about being human that no one who claims that label can avoid.

That’s why I’m looking into proof that one or both of my parents have supernatural DNA. I was thinking elvish for a time, but perhaps dragon is more my species type.

Similar to a dragon, I am a hoarder, I like to live alone and will guard my privacy with fire when necessary. I’m clever and popular, but everyone’s just a bit afraid of me. Except my mother. Dangit, mother. How am I supposed to create a broad sweeping generalization if you’re a deviant???

I’m also draconic due to the fact that I’ve been accused of not existing.

Not as in, I’m an apparition or a figment of thousands of people’s imagination. More as in, I don’t experience what most people call normal, and people don’t believe that’s possible.

I’m talking about sex. For the record (intense stressful moment as I brace for objections), I label myself as asexual. Not like the plants. Unfortunately, my attempts to reproduce by budding have all ended in failure. As in, I don’t want to have sex. I think sex is stupid. I don’t get why people want it. You can object all you want, but if you don’t believe me, you can stop reading. It’s okay. You are fully entitled to your own opinion. Even if it’s wrong.

I think this is one of the most misunderstood things about me. You might find it easy to see why. Unless, of course, you’ve never seen me flirting, but trust me, that adds a whole level of confusion that most people aren’t prepared to deal with. People ask me, what’s normal? Is it okay to feel like this?

If you were a computer, I’d tell you that there’s nothing in the original installation that can kill you. But humans and dragons are not computers.

I pretend I’m not asexual though. Especially to people who’ve known me all my life. It’s hard to accept that other people change. I used to be an albeit weird teenager with reasonably normal desire for relationships, and since no one expected anything different, hearing that I am something unexpected is hard to accept. So it is with everyone who defies expectations.

Expectations are cruel. They can help uphold standards. They can also be crushing. For me, at least, I hate going back to where I used to live because the expectations of people who knew me are overwhelming. I can’t be everything you were expecting me to be. You know that, but you’re still disappointed. I’m still disappointed. This is because I have just as much plastic in me as everyone else. I’m just as apathetic as everyone else. I hate it, but not enough to change.

Is this what it means to be human?

Are we destined to lose to the plastic?

Will we always just love that which is meaningless and hate what could change us?

Everyone is fighting a battle, but it’s not always a battle against the plastic.

Sometimes the plastic is too much. Sometimes we have the time to battle our own lack of change, our apathy, and our superficiality. Sometimes, however, we battle to survive. We battle to find our identity. We battle to be understood. We battle to be valued. We fight through days and months and years of invisible battles.

She asked me one day if I even really cared. I was rebelling against the plastic, so I said what she had been hoping I wouldn’t admit: I didn’t care. I couldn’t. I was too worn out to even consider fighting the truth anymore. It was a cruel truth, and not one that I wanted her to know. I wanted to care. But sometimes you just can’t fight anymore.

I was dying, but all of a sudden, the plastic seemed stupid. Why do we waste so much time doing that which doesn’t matter?

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She asked.

Because what can you say in the face of all that brokenness?

“How can you possibly understand?”

“Because I’m that broken too” she whispered.

We’re all that broken. No one can possibly understand how broken we are. Except that

we’re all that broken.

What’s it like to be me?

Well, what’s it like to be you?

The Tale of the Lost Wind

Okay, dear reader, get ready. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I’m starting with the word “lost.”

Lost to me is a word that embodies several things. It embodies hopelessness and loneliness. It embodies uncertainty. It embodies adventure. It speaks to me of triumph. It reminds me that what we find isn’t always what we were looking for, but sometimes what we want isn’t what we were looking for either.

I get lost. This can be an expensive hobby, depending on the method and duration. When I was young and careless, I often drove my car in random directions for a while until I wasn’t sure where I was going, just that the sun was setting in the west. Then I would drive until I found myself in someplace familiar again. I sometimes had to call for help from the native population, but in general, I couldn’t help but feel a rush as I realized that I had no idea where I was and it was possible that I might end up driving forever but never able to find my way back. I always ended up home, though. Otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this rather random composition here and now. There’s something so free about being unable to get somewhere you didn’t want to be, though. Someone can call you wondering why you aren’t showing up, but you can’t help it; you don’t know how to get there from here. Usually no one notices you’ve been lost though.

I generally get lost alone though. This is good for some reasons; other people sometimes freak out because they hate being lost. Sometimes they pull out their GPS, which instantly reassures them that they can get back within a set number of minutes as long as they don’t take any of the tantalizing side roads. Sometimes they even fall asleep, which is about the most dampening thing one can do while on a high-adrenaline adventure. But other times, getting lost with someone else means stopping for a photo op, having someone to open your root beer while you’re driving, or having an echo of affirmation when you spot something amazing. When I’m alone, it’s just me driving, sometimes talking to myself, but overall, just excitedly thinking about the next corner I might come to.

When I get lost walking, though, I prefer to be alone. It’s probably not safe to do that, but I honestly don’t care. Walking is an activity I use to enthrall myself with the realness of everything outside myself. The air around me, the earth beneath me, and the many colorful blotches of whatever scenery is slowly drifting past as my feet tap along to a swaying rhythm. I lose myself to sensual experiencing. It’s the only time I can avoid thinking and just feel for a few minutes. My emotions become still and it’s just physical sensations surrounding me, breathing through me, merging with me. Then I become tired, and I return breathless, not because of exertion, but because all my breath was stolen away as it collapsed into the realness of existence.

I stand on a hilltop with the sun caressing my face as the wind picks up my soul and carries it away as I breathe. Then there’s nothing but me and the wind.

Ah! This is so much better than the other kinds of lost I have felt. I have felt lost and confused in a world where I don’t belong. I have felt lost as I’ve been rejected and had no place else to go. I have felt lost as I realized that I had no one to call. I have felt lost as I’ve discovered that there are only a few people who really understand me or want to. I have felt lost as I look at my options and realize that the only places left to go are on paths that I must not walk upon. Feeling lost isn’t always a euphoric experience. There’s a huge difference between being physically lost (not knowing your geographical location or how to get to where you intended to be) and any other kind of lost. It’s not so bad if you don’t know that you’re lost though.

People come along from time to time to inform you that you’re lost. They want you to do something to find your way out of the darkness of whatever ignorance you’ve stumbled into. It’s very important to them for some reason. It’s rather jarring to discover that not only have you been lost, but you must now perform a dramatic transformation from your comfortable life to a perspective that makes what you were doing before look bad. ~sigh~ Being lost in the dark and not knowing it is one thing; being lost in the dark and not caring is another thing entirely. But it takes effort to stop being lost. I don’t know if we always take this into consideration, but finding your way out of a lost place is hard, takes a lot of creativity, problem solving skills, and determination.

Usually I can work up these feelings to get myself un-lost if I’ve driven my car to a random location no one has heard of, or if my feet take me to a crazy downtown alleyway. Creativity, problem solving skills, and determination are not always as readily available in social situations, emotional crises, mental uncertainties, or even spiritual confusion. You can’t just look up and know that the sun always sets in the west. 

Trinkets in a Hollow Shell

What is value? What does it mean to be worth something?

My sociology professor once told us a story about a woman who made an exquisite woven blanket, in today’s market worth at least $1000. She took it to the trading post and said, “buy this for $231.58,” so the store manager did. The $231.58 was what the woman owed on her mortgage. To her, the blanket was not valued by how much someone else might want it, but by how much she needed it to be worth.

I don’t understand this very well, honestly. Values can vary so much from person to person, time to time. An old comic book is worth nothing to a mother getting rid of her child’s old toys. To a collector, the book might be a first edition with a signature, and therefore priceless. To such a collector, the monetary value is how much he is willing to pay to have a piece for his collection. The value is based upon how much he wants it, which is much higher than the amount that the mother cleaning up garbage wants it.

Something has value only if someone wants it. The most priceless treasure could become worthless if no one wanted it. Values are arbitrary. Gold is valuable, but it wouldn’t be if no one wanted it. Many a profiteer has been confounded by value dropping out of certain commodities because no one wants them.

Are people commodities too? Do people become worthless if no one wants them?

What if I don’t want myself?

Perhaps this is why self-esteem is so important. For some reason, we all want to be wanted. But there are times when it seems that no one wants us. There are times when I don’t even want myself. I feel worthless. What’s the point of keeping something that is worthless? Why take care of it? Am I just waiting for someone else to come along and value me?

But if I want myself, then I am valuable. If there is someone out there who wants me, then I am not worthless. I may not be worth much, but I am worth something. Just like all those ticket stubs that are in a shoebox under my bed; they are garbage, but they have value to me, so I keep them. I have value to me, so I keep me.

It’s not enough some days, though, to want myself. Sometimes it’s impossible to want myself. Sometimes I’m not good enough. Sometimes I cannot see the worth in me.

Perhaps that’s why I need a god. 

It's Pink

Sometimes you have a song stuck in your head. See if you can guess this one:

“Slam, slam, oh hot d**n. What part of party don't you understand?”

I never listened to the song when I was in high school, which is when it came out, but I find it remarkable how much I like songs that came out between 2005 and 2010 (which is approximately when I was in high school). I know this because I obtained a free subscription to satellite radio and I am discovering a whole bunch of music on this Pop 2K station that most of my peers listened to a lot, but I've never heard of, and I like them. I wonder why I like music that was produced ten years ago, but not music of similar values that is produced today.

I also like music that was produced before I was born.

I find that the songs most likely to get stuck in my head are songs from movies though. Especially theme songs from a series that has over 200 episodes. Unless they're in a different language. I've watched the theme song from Angel Beats! at least a hundred times, but I still can't sing that beautiful melody without humming a great deal of it. Japanese is hard though.

How about, “Be true to your heart! Just be true to your heart! Cause if you're true to your heart, it's gonna lead you straight to me(-e).”

I heard a song yesterday while watching a movie with a four year old. The part that's stuck in my head goes like this: “How ba(a-a-a-a)d can I be? I'm just doing what comes naturally.” It's a pretty annoying song. But I found it notable that this has a remarkably different tone than that song earlier that's from Princess Diaries 2.

Obviously the song from the Lorax does not say, “don't follow your heart” but it has a cautionary note that sometimes doing what comes naturally to you can have dire consequences. If you know the movie, you already know what I mean, but it doesn't matter because I'm going to explain it anyway. The main character, in pursuit of success and profit, chops down the entire forest, which displaces a bunch of animals and makes that part of the country uninhabitable except for a small plastic town that doesn't know what the outside world is like and purchases fresh air in bottles. This is fine.

I've heard survival of the fittest means that whoever is the strongest and smartest wins. This seems to be true of nature. A second grader asked me recently if I thought animals are innocent. I replied that animals are crueler than humans, but not as greedy. Maybe if animals had powers of foresight and logic, they would be just as greedy as humans, but nature usually works itself out so that no one can be on top for too long. In an experiment where 12 wolves were placed on a secluded island to mimic the way nature intended, within a few short years, the island was devastated by excessive inbreeding and reproduction and required human intervention to keep the starving overpopulation of wolves alive.

Perhaps these wolves were less fit than the pine trees which were the sole survivors on the island.

Perhaps the most fit are really dandelions, because no matter how many we tear up and burn and apply herbicide to and feed to our donkeys and goats, there are always more of them next year. Although, I suppose the same can be said of humans.

But if we're just doing what comes naturally, how bad can it possibly be?