Meow! Meow! Meow!
The sound reverberated through the house, piercing the serenity of Christmas morning.
My friends and I all made our way to the living room, looking like Zombies. The cat stared at us and meowed some more.
We all desired something at that moment. The cat yearned for food, the humans for sleep.
Only one of the species would get what we wanted. The one with paws, fur, and an enviable sense of dexterity.
Indeed, moments later, the cat was working his way through a newly filled bowl. The meowing had ceased.
Meanwhile, we were all still awake and groggy as heck.
It was to be a joyous day ahead. Perhaps the most joyous one on the calendar. But at this moment, that spirit was sorely lacking.
Anything I say before coffee cannot be used against me.
On its face, this adage is straightforward. We’re often not at our best in the early morning light. That little pick-me-up works wonders.
But it also speaks wonders about our neediness.
We need coffee to feel sufficiently energized. And we need to feel “with it” as early in the day as possible.
These needs have defined cultural norms. They’ve also helped fuel an $85 billion industry in the United States.
I can’t say I was thinking about all this on that Christmas morning, as I fired up my friends’ Keurig machine for a cup of liquid inspiration. But as I stared over at the cat, now contented, it dawned on me just how needy we all are.
Not just the young or old or disabled.
All of us.
In September 1992, a hunter in the Alaskan bush came upon the remains of Chris McCandless.
McCandless had made his way into the wilderness of The Last Frontier hoping to live off the land, free of wants. But that land had devoured him whole.
The McCandless tragedy has been turned into a book and feature film, both called Into the Wild. For years, many of those who encountered the tale have found themselves debating his actions and motivations.
But to me, such arguments are beside the point. For Chris McCandless is just the tip of the iceberg.
You see, there have been plenty of others who undertook a similar quest, with similar reasoning, and suffered a similar fate. Only in their case, there was no hunter to come upon their remains while they were still recognizable.
Yes, the headline of this sad saga should have nothing to do with adventure or determinism. Instead, it should pinpoint a simple fact.
There is nowhere we can go to escape neediness.
This is an uncomfortable thought. A taboo one even in our society, where a central tenet is self-sufficiency.
But all that baggage can’t block out the truth.
We all need a lot — whether we’re off the grid or on it.
When I was growing up, my family went on several road trips.
On the highway, my parents had only one rule.
If we came across a rest stop, we would all need to at least try to use the restroom.
For the open road represented a significant challenge. As we crossed miles upon miles of blacktop, there were few opportunities for us to satisfy some of our most basic biological needs. Forcing the issue at a highway rest stop was our best bet.
On its face, I realize how ridiculous this whole charade was. As a runner, I will confess to stopping at far less glamorous locales than highway rest stops to relieve myself. It comes with the territory when putting in the miles.
But just because it’s possible to take care of business anywhere doesn’t make it acceptable. Anyone who’s ever read a travel horror story thread knows that cleanliness is paramount while traveling.
Whether we’re 5 or 55, we need a climate-controlled location with indoor plumbing, toilet paper and liquid soap for our pit stops. Nothing less will do.
Of course, those can’t be found at every mile marker or exit. So, we need to take seize the rest stop opportunities we do come across. That’s the only way we can meet both our needs and society’s demands of us.
Looking back now, my parents weren’t setting the rules by pulling off the highway at every rest stop. They were abiding by them.
And these days, I find myself doing the same.
Not long ago, I headed into the office to get some work done.
This statement would hardly have been worth writing a few years back. But in an era of hybrid and remote work, it’s almost an oddity.
Indeed, only one other person was in the massive office suite that day. All around me, rows of cubicles sat vacant. The silence was deafening.
It was clear that this space — my company’s regional headquarters — wasn’t needed anymore in its current form. Indeed, the company has plans to decommission it.
But I need something like it.
You see, my home is many things. But an office is not one of them.
There is no built-in space for a desk and external monitors. So, I end up working from a laptop on my dining room table when I’m not in the office.
It’s a woefully inadequate setup. And my work from it is subpar as well.
So, even in an office-less future for my region, I will need office space.
In my quest for such a space, I’ve tried to keep things simple.
A private room with an internet connection and a stand for my webcam and external monitors would suffice. After all, that’s what’s technically required for me to deliver my work on time and hold virtual meetings with discretion.
But I soon realized that wouldn’t be enough.
I needed a large enough desk to eat my lunch at. I needed access to a clean and well-maintained restroom. I needed climate control and somewhere to park my car.
Oh, and coffee. I needed plenty of coffee.
These requirements would seem like novelties to construction workers, oilfield roughnecks and ranchers. And yet, like many so-called knowledge workers, I couldn’t imagine doing my best work without them readily available.
Am I that needy? Are we all?
It certainly appears so. But there’s nothing wrong with that.
Why did the cat dampen Christmas spirits? Why did Chris McCandless wander off into the wild? Why did I roll my eyes at those forced road trip pit stops and then nearly forget to add a restroom — a restroom — to the list of my office essentials?
It’s because of the stigma around having needs.
Yes, we treat neediness as a sign of weakness. It’s a black mark. A strain on others. A crutch.
With this in mind, we do our best to suppress our needs. We put ourselves through strife to avoid appearing vulnerable.
But no one wins at the end of this process. In fact, we all lose.
It’s time to do away with that misguided machismo. It’s time to say sayonara to the mirage of wanting for nothing.
We all need plenty for ourselves and from each other. The steps we take and the structures we build to satisfy those needs — those are the lifeblood of our society.
So, let’s give ourselves a break, and give neediness its due.
We wouldn’t be here today without it, and we won’t realize the promise of tomorrow unless we accept it.