Me and the Ducks

So I’m sittin’ at the lake, trying to not think about anything—which, let’s be honest, is impossible. My version of meditating is basically just me trying not to spiral into some weird existential daydream about whether or not I’ve ever actually rested, or if I’ve just been tired since 2004.

Anyway, I’m on this old, weathered dock that creaks every time I move like it’s judging me for my snack choices and questionable life path, when I notice this ruckus coming from the far side of the water.

It’s geese.

Geese, in all their glory, being loud, chaotic, flappy little gremlins with wings. There had to be like a hundred of them. Honking, splashing, fighting each other like it was Black Friday at a Best Buy and somebody just wheeled out the last discounted air fryer. No order, no peace, just squawking bedlam and aggression. Honestly, it looked like Facebook in bird form.

But then… I spot these two white ducks.

Perfectly still.

Gliding like little feathery philosophers, just drifting through the madness with zero interest in joining the nonsense. Like retirees on vacation with lawn chairs and no plans. They weren’t flustered, they weren’t trying to fit in with the angry bird mob—they were just doing their own thing. Floating calmly like they were the embodiment of “I do not have the energy for this.”

And I swear, it hit me like a download straight from God, or at least a very chill angel with a duck obsession.

Life is better outside the crowd.

Those ducks weren’t louder. They weren’t trying to out-flap or out-honk anybody. They were just over there thriving in the simplicity of peace and probably judging everyone like I was. They reminded me that maybe I don’t need to scream to be heard. Maybe I don’t need to fight for space that wasn’t meant for me. Maybe I don’t even need to flap. Maybe I just need to float.

Next thing I know, those two ducks start heading my way. Like they could feel that I, too, was a reluctant participant in the chaos of modern life. We didn’t speak—I mean, I’m not Dr.Doolittle over here—but we had an understanding.

They climbed up onto the dock and just… sat with me.

Like three old friends on a porch swing, watching the world lose its mind and grateful we weren’t in it. No noise. No drama. Just me, two ducks, and the quiet understanding that peace is precious and rare—and most of the time, you gotta choose it on purpose.

We sat like that for a while. The geese kept doing their UFC routine in the background, but me and the ducks? We were in our own little world. A sacred circle of stillness. And for a brief, beautiful moment, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I was doing this life thing right.

No performance. No panic. No pretending.

Just stillness. Just presence. Just peace.

And two white ducks who reminded me that the real magic isn’t in being noticed by the crowd—it’s in learning to be okay outside of it.