Doing It Tasmanian Devil Style

You’d think I’d have better questions to ask of life, but when I was young I loved the Tasmanian Devil. Seeing Bugs Bunny dressed up as a Tasmanian Devil with a mop on his head and big red lips drawn on his rabbit face I just lose it. Watching that whirling, swirling mass fly across the screen never failed to ignite waves of laughter.

Boy how things have changed.

Recently I saw a commercial for Geico that featured Taz himself drinking what I assume was a Red Bull, and the consequences as one would expect were both dire and predictable.

Yet, my first reaction to his whirling dervish actions was no longer laughter. It was now simply envy.

What? That’s correct Envy, the old green-eyed monster. I found myself wishing I could possess such energy, abounding with motion and movement.

Odd as it seems old Taz had changed from an object of laughter to an idol worthy of admiration of his sheer propensity for perpetual motion.

To be the age of Taz and still move like that, I mean how much Kale has this guy ingested? And why, I ask, is taking my weight in vitamins every day not producing similar results?

Taz’s movements seem to point up how different one may view the world from the unique vantage point of old age.

Oh, of course I’m not that old, at least I tell myself, merely shlepping up the steps toward my golden years. Like one starting up the stairway at the Lincoln Memorial, a bit of a climb, with the end in full view.

Many of us change with time. We become more mellow, forgiving, less judgmental and quicker to laugh and appreciate what we may have once taken for granted.

And then there are others of course who become more Grinchlike. Angry, bitter, remorseful and mourning the opportunity or love that got away.

So in the end is life just a cartoon?

Are all of us merely destined to chase after a rabbit disguised in a mop and lipstick only to find it an illusion?

Or is Taz truly the optimist we all wish we could be? Like Charlie Brown on steroids, kicking a football that is pulled away when just within reach.

So what are the lessons we can learn from the Tasmanian Devil about hanging on to our hope despite illusion and all the disguises life dons to elude and deceive us? Does it matter if there’s a mop at the end of our rainbow if we choose to believe otherwise?

Should we race towards our destiny like a car spinning out of control or will slow and steady win the day?

Of course it’s just my opinion and bare in mind I’m a Taz fan, that the old tortoise and hare adage may be somewhat deceptive in nature.

When you compare it to the message from another very popular children’s story from my youth, Walter the Lazy Mouse, I would have to say it’s a bit confusing.

Walter was so slow he returned home from school one day to find his family had moved.

So which of these lessons is the appropriate way to move through life?

Slowly and with purpose or jumping headlong ninety-miles-an-hour toward our goals with a feverish, rapid leap?

Is there a happy medium to be found or are we simply destined to be either a Taz or a Walter the Lazy Mouse?

Do we even have a say in which we will be? Or are we born to laze or leap and nothing we do truly has any bearing on our actions?

Since I was familiarized with both these options when very young I can’t say either had the advantage of influencing me first.

Yet, I have always seemed to emulate my idol, Taz. Jumping headlong into life, tripping, falling and each time rising a bit more bruised and battered with that same resolve to run my race at warp speed.

I don’t imagine I’m the only one who must consciously make an effort to slow down to a crawl and when so doing find myself with a sense of anxiety about wasting moments.

I believe in the psych world they refer to Taz types as A and I’m not certain if an A has ever found a way to become a B.

And is it better to be a B or an A?

Tasmanian Devil or tortoise, which is best?

If you are expecting some sort of medical paper on testing done to resolve this issue I must disappoint. Finding only that as I rush toward maturity, slowing down only momentarily to catch my breath, it is now obvious, we are what we are.

Taz could no sooner become a Walter than Walter could be a Taz.

Yet both seem to get there in the end, in their own way and at their own speed.

Walter found an empty house and Taz a fake lady Tasmanian Devil, so is there a message here?

Sorry can’t explore the question today as I have far too much to do to slow down for philosophical contemplation. WHOOSH…..