People ask me sometimes, “Do you ever see any wild animals where you live?”
I live in the city. There’s no forest, no open fields, no quiet stretches of land where deer cross at dusk.
But yes — I see wild animals every single day.
They just happen to walk on two legs.
The city is its own kind of wilderness. Concrete trees, metal rivers, sirens instead of birds. And the creatures that roam it… you learn fast that they’re not tame. They’re not predictable. They’re not domesticated just because they wear clean clothes and know how to stand in line.
If you pay attention — really pay attention — you can see the instincts under the surface. The fear. The hunger. The anger. The desperation. The pack behavior. The territorial energy. The way some people stalk opportunities and others hide in plain sight.
Everyone is fighting something.
But not everyone admits it.
**I don’t need a forest to see wildness.
I just have to step out my front door.**
I’ve watched people lash out with teeth they pretend they don’t have.
I’ve watched people run from problems the same way an animal bolts from a predator.
I’ve watched people puff themselves up to look bigger, tougher, louder — the same bluffing behavior you see in nature documentaries.
And I’ve seen people hurt each other out of instinct, old wounds, and reflex more than actual intention.
Most of the danger I’ve known didn’t come from nature.
It came from people who didn’t know how to handle the nature inside themselves.
Human beings are the most unpredictable animals on the planet.
At least a wild animal gives you honesty. A growl means a growl. A warning means a warning. Nothing is hidden. Nothing is disguised behind ego or insecurity.
But people?
People smile while they scheme.
People shake your hand while they plan something else.
People hide their claws behind polite words and friendly masks.
You learn how to read eyes.
You learn how to read tone.
You learn how to sense the shift in the air before something turns.
It’s survival — just a different kind than what you find in the woods.
That’s why the old line hits harder the older I get:
“Hell is empty, all the devils are around me.”
Shakespeare understood something most people still don’t want to face:
the danger isn’t out there somewhere.
It’s not hiding in the dark waiting to jump at you.
It’s right here.
In the city.
In the crowd.
In the people carrying battles they refuse to confront.
I don’t see deer or coyotes or foxes.
I see something wilder — people who don’t know the limits of their own chaos.
And that’s enough wilderness for anyone.
