Dan's Papers - July 4, 2008

On a recent late-night outing, I ran into a bunny that, I believe, was at the top of the bunny bell curve in the thinking-too-much department.

He was on Gin Lane in Southampton, in the middle of the street, and because the road there is straight, we saw him from a long way off. We captured him in our headlights.

We slowed down as we approached, of course. We had no desire to run over a bunny. From the bunny's perspective, however, the headlights were getting bigger and bigger and closer and closer. Many another bunny would have immediately made the decision to run off. And that would be that.

But this bunny didn't. He stood there, an alarmed look on his face. Clearly there was danger approaching, no doubt about that. For a moment, instinct took over, and he turned and ran toward the side of the road.

But then, it seemed to me, he started having second thoughts. Was this really the right way to get away from the danger? He stopped and thought. He was off to one side but still on the road. I slowed further.

Maybe it's the OTHER way, he thought. And so he scampered back into the road and then off to the other side where he stopped again before reaching the other side.

I was now at a complete stop. Fortunately, there were no cars on Gin Lane at that hour.

He looked up and stared at me. There I was. These two bright headlights. No, he thought, it's back the other way. And so he scampered across the road, but again stopped before reaching the other side.

"Hey," I shouted. I was in a convertible. He could hear me. He perked up both ears and wiggled his nose. My fiancée, who was with me, perked up her ears and wiggled her nose. "Get out of the way," I said to the bunny. He was looking straight at me.

Okay. And so he scampered right down the white line, hippity-hopping away from me for about 20 feet, after which he stopped again. He scratched his head. No, this is not right.

I crept forward 20 feet, too, so now we were in the same relationship to one another as we were before, but further down.

"Get out of the way!" I shouted louder.

Well, running down the white line hadn't worked. So I'll try running off to one side again. And he did. But again he stopped. And then once again he ran across the road the other way. Maybe it's THIS way. Was it this way?

"Make up your damn mind!" I shouted at him.

And so, finally, under this urging, he scampered at top speed off in the direction he had first gone until he had gotten up a good hippity-hop across somebody's well-mowed lawn.

I've been occasionally thinking about this bunny. Our encounter was two nights ago. Had there been something physically wrong with him? Had he lost his compass? No. Once he got going into his happy, across-the-lawn hippity-hop, he seemed quite normal and bunny-like. The incident was over. All was forgotten.

Maybe this bunny was just like somebody who can't stay focused. I know people like that. They start on something, then stop and start on something else. It makes you nuts.

Maybe the bunny had perceived some predator on one or the other side of the road a few minutes before I appeared - a fox or something - and after seeing the headlights could not remember on which side of the road he was. Over here? Over there? Oh, God, which is it?

Mostly, however, I think this bunny was just a compulsive worrier. People like that worry themselves sick. And if they stop worrying, they worry they have nothing to worry about. They go to doctors. Most doctors tell them to try not to worry. Worrying puts strain on your body. It can tire you out, shorten your lifespan. Better to see a psychiatrist and work out what it was in your past that caused you to become somebody who does all this worrying. Find it out, deal with it, and, when it comes up, have little tricks you do to get yourself to stop. Or perform the relaxing techniques you've learned. Start at the crown chakra and go all the way down to the bottoms of your feet.