What do you think? Endearing or embarrassing?
So it's not a real animal. And it's not even a stuffed animal. It's a pillow shaped like an animal with a rendering of a fox. Cute, no? Juvenile? Maybe. It's a little odd for a twenty four year-old to sleep with, well, a doll. It's not as if I cuddle up next to it every evening, or can't sleep without it. Hell, I don't even remember if it's lost in the blankets half the time. More often than not, the only time I acknowledge its around is when when I'm picking him off the floor in the morning. (What can I say? I'm a flailer.)
There's something comforting about its presence. And I can't tell you why.
The fox was a gift.
And also my spirit animal. A fox. A bushy-tailed, bright-eyed canine.
To my knowledge, I've not brought havoc upon any farmers and their livestock and poultry. I've never starred in the saddest Disney movie of all time. Nor have I had a song written about me complete with a terrifying music video about what my vocal projections sound like.
But that's not what spirit animals are. They aren't nature's replications of ourselves or some sort of mythological tie-in to our being. Rather, they're a behavioral representation of who we are, a creature outside of humanity that we feel connected to.
I have a friend who is a cow: calm, quiet, not easily-provoked. Solemn, pleasant, giving.
Another who's a flamingo. Funny, smart, perhaps a little odd. Skiddish.
Or my roommate who's a lemur. Crafty, goofy, easily-distracted. Curious.
Foxes are cunning, playful, expressive. Tricky. Sly. And I like to think, in some capacity, each of those is a great trait of my own. Well, and handsome. Oh-so-dashing. Can't forget that one.
Finding my spirit animal was easy. A fox is a great avatar for who I am. It's not always so simple, though, and discovering your own spirit animal can be...difficult.
The thing to remember is this: if you have to question it, it's not you.
And that is another lesson all together.