Steven Pressfield once wrote that the highest treason a crab can commit is to make a leap for the rim of the bucket. In other words, if you’re in the shit with a bunch of other people who are in the shit, you should stick around in the shit together. All for one and all that sort of talk. But this discounts the survivor gene. This discounts the burning you might have to escape your small pathetic town to go and live out some version of your big-city dream. This discounts decades, centuries and millenniums of human evolution and boldness. If every crab stayed passively in the bucket then perhaps they deserve their pot of boiling water. Nothing much has ever become of men sitting on their hands and waiting for the world to spin them some sort of destiny. The bored and careless get mowed down together in a heap, by time and irrelevance. And that dying, writhing mass you leave behind will of course look at you funny when you wiggle away, but just remember you might be the last thing they ever see anyway, so continue on with your wiggle.
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