Legend has it that humans spend lifetimes yearning for solace, for idyllic surroundings and freedom from clamor and stress. The notion is we put our noses to the grindstone and bust ass for decades to get away from the madding crowd. If only we can put enough away to buy a little place at the coast or at the top of a mountain to escape the chaos. If only. We despise the clogged highways, the choking fumes, the noise. Everywhere we turn. The economy stinks but development is on a rampage, squeezing us ever closer. Jets roar overhead. Semis, SUVS and 4×4 monsters barrel along, itching to cozy up behind our puny cars. We hate crowds, the press of flesh, the infected air. We loathe being treated like cattle, herded along the human corrals of airports, theme parks and branch banks. At Wendy’s, for Pete’s sake. It’s the bigness that afflicts us. We think it’s offensive and oppressive. We hate it. Baloney. What a bunch of hooey. The truth is humans love crowds and crowding. We are no different than the wildebeests of Africa or the penguins and seals of Antarctica. We find any excuse to congregate and huddle. We cram into neighborhoods, cram into concert halls, cram into sporting arenas, cram into discos, cram onto beaches and into restaurants and cruise ships and street scenes and courtrooms and prisons. We love the bigness and the congestion. We always vote for it because it means we’re growing. Nobody wants to shop in an empty store at Christmas. Almost prideful, we complain about traffic as if we had conquered Mt. Everest; but secretly we adore the endless interstate convoys and jammed parking lots. Teenagers cruise the streets and park in public places like elephants at a watering hole. Harley riders gather by the tens of thousands. If we happen to be alone, TV fills our vacuum, replacing live bodies with an endless lineup of talking heads. Growth, congestion and noise make us happy, especially the people in power. Some rare individuals who mistakenly love solitude believe they can avoid the rest of humanity. How naive. They find remote land and build a hideaway. Almost overnight, a grand development springs up all around them like kudzu. They build spacious enclaves insulated from the multitudes; but, with the insistence of caring family, they eventually end up rubbing bedpans with total strangers. Unless you’re an eagle, there’s no escaping your fellow humans who enjoy swarming no less than do sociable honeybees. For those loners who question this inevitable fate, park your favorite toys at the most remote corners of the shopping center parking lots, 500 yards from the nearest vehicles. When you return, you will have neighbors snuggled inches from your wax job. It’s what humans do, after all. And zebras, geese, antelope, hippos, rhinos, et. al.