R.I.P. Steve Irwin
Jeannie just told me that Steve Irwin the crocodile hunter died...apparently a sting ray barb through the chest while he was filming a documentary on underwater creatures. It seems so obvious that it would've happened eventually, but I think the essence of his appeal was that show after show he'd emerge relatively unscathed from situations that should've ended him. Though our rational minds told us that he was a fool for laughing in the face of his natural human survival instinct, subconsciously we considered him untouchable, invincible, invulnerable to the perils of the natural world. Now that he's passed away it's easier to look at him as some crazy fool who had it coming. To be honest I miss the illusion. I didn't really watch his show all that much, but I feel like I've become slightly more cynical about the world after hearing of his death. I hate cynics. Tonight I had dinner with a friend who strongly believes that there's a plan for everyone's lives that's already laid out. Unless that plan is for people to go through life becoming repeatedly disillusioned with everything that seemed good and joy-producing in the world, and for people to lose the wonder, fascination and awe that was so potent throughout their childhoods, then I don't buy it. It seems that if one were to just allow life to lead herself she'd end up so calloused and scarred that it'd be impossible for her to feel anything anymore. The only way to avoid this is to lead life rather than sitting back and allowing life to lead. It's possible to avoid becoming cynical and cold. Sure, Steve Irwin died disproving my desire to believe he could overcome the most dangerous circumstances, but Steve Irwin also died doing what he loved. In other words Steve Irwin's love for dangerous reptiles, amphibians and aquatic life was so great that he repeatedly sacrificed his life and his own body to share this intense enthusiasm with the world, and it worked. Hearing the sheer excitement and amazement in his voice as he spoke of the magnificence of the crocodile was enough to turn anyone into a croc enthusiast. I like to think that The Crocodile Hunter must've been in this same state of excited amazement when he passed, and he died not for his foolishness and recklessness, but for his passion. Now if that doesn't warm your heart I don't know what will.