Sorry Forrest, but life is definitely not like a box of chocolates. It's closer to a can of tuna.
Yesterday I stumbled over a three and a half foot long tuna while strolling along Martinique Beach on Nova Scotia's delicious Eastern Shore. I was awestruck by its beauty and strength, even in death, but my how the mighty had fallen. It made me think about my life as a tuna.
We're all tuna at some point. Sometimes we're a happy slice of seared ahi (yellowfin tuna) served with mango lime salsa. We are warm and beautiful. At other times we are as cold as art. Still beautiful...a slice of raw tuna wrapped around pristine rice, served on a snow white plate. Sashimi, I suppose, respects the tuna for its strength and purity.
Most of us are tuna sandwiches. We fly through life under the culinary radar.
Occasionally we wash up on a beach to suffer the indignity of having twelve year old boys throw rocks at our bloated bodies. Our beauty is lost on them, but not others. This is as bad as it gets for the tuna.
Life as canned tuna isn't so bad, at times. Sometimes we manage to find a slice of homemade bread to cuddle up with. A little curry can spice us up our lives. Mayo makes us palatable to most. Of course we have our down days when we're caught between mushy Wonder Bread slices, then stuffed into a somber bag. As the morning warms we begin to sweat. At lunchtime we're unceremoniously dumped into a cafeteria bin alongside suffering salami and battered peanut butter.
Life as a tuna can be a challenge. Will you be parting the waves today, or will some freckled kid trade you in for onion rings and a Snickers?
Start swimming Forrest. Swim, Forrest, swim.
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