Tag Archives: being a bear

What if I cannot continue to be a better bear?


As I continue being a bear, I have generally become better at various bear related skills and activities than I once was. I am a better climber of trees than I once was. I am a better eater of forest floor leaves than I once was. I am a better understander of squirrels than I once was (though they certainly still confuse me to no end).

I am, generally, a better overall bear than I once was. Or, at least, I feel like I am a better overall bear than I once was. I take pride in that fact. My bearness has grown. It has gotten better. It is better prepared for other potential bear related problems. I am a better bear. I do not often get to reflect on the growth of my bearness and any positive changes it has undergone over my time being a bear (which is all of my time), so doing so is actually quite nice.

But then, of course, I am forced to consider the downsides of continually being a better bear. The main downside: is there a time or place when or where I stop being a better bear? Does my continual better bear being stop bettering eventually?

I do not know. I do not want to hit a wall of bearness. I want to continue feeling like I am progressing toward some kind of bearness goal, even if something like that does not really exist or is only imposed by me.

Of course, when I begin to think of this bearness wall, I wonder if I even need to keep getting better at being a bear. Perhaps the skill level I currently possess in activities like swimming or smelling things or not getting locked in a dumpster is adequate and there is no need for further advancement. How much better can I really get at not being locked in a dumpster anyway? There is not too much involved with that skill, and what little is involved with it is comprised mostly of luck. Even more difficult skills like climbing or swimming pose that issue. Do I really need to get better at shifting my body about in the river? Nobody seems impressed by it, and it does not help me beyond a minor confidence boost, so why bother?

I do not like to be so dismissive, though. Even if being able to stand on my two back legs is not the most useful skill to hone (though being able to use my front two paws for carrying things would be lovely), I still like the idea of trying to get better at it. And even if I cannot get better at it, I like the idea of trying. Even if the growth of my bearness gets stuck, I still like to think I can do something about it.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? The newest adventure is all about safety!

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

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The bear I might become.


I am not sure what kind of bear I am supposed to be (I do not even know if I am supposed to be a bear, really, but that is another topic all together). That worries me occasionally as I have noted before: what if I am doing bearness wrong? There is another issue that grows from that moldy idea resting in my bear mind: what kind of bear am I supposed to become?

Not doing bearness right in the current moment is fixable, I suppose, but that fixing is very dependent on my knowing what kind of bear I want to be. When I think about that, I usually do not have an answer. I am a bear. And I want to be a bear. That should be good enough, but I still feel a strange push from myself to define my bearness, my being a bear. I feel a need to know what kind of bear I am and what kind of bear I want to become.

When I think of the kind of bear I have been, it does not help matters. Most of my past bearness is me being okay with being a bear and that is all. I liked being a bear because I was a bear. There was no need to categorize my bearness.

I am a bear, so I am a bear.

At least, that is how it used to be.

As I continue being a bear, however, that need to define and categorize and further understand my being a bear grows. And its growth always brings frustration because I have no answers that satisfy the need. I am a bear is all I have on the topic, and I believe I will be a bear is all I can predict about the topic. I hope the bear I am is the kind of bear I need to be later.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? The newest adventure is all about safety!

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

I fell down a hill.

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I fell down a hill and into some very pointy and angry and horrible vines and sticks and forest debris. My paws were carefully stepping down the falling forest floor. I do not remember where my paws were taking me or why, but I do remember the feeling of my front paws slipping and sliding and pulling the rest of my body with them as my belly slammed into the ground, my fuzzy fur collecting the chunks of dirt and dislodged tree roots all around.

The wind fought my eyes as I slid. It took the chunks of dirt and dislodged tree roots from my belly fuzz and hurled them toward my face. I was blinded for a moment, so I was not ready for the full force of my entire me slamming into a mound of everything pointy the forest had to offer. Vines with little prickly things on them. Sticks broken on every end. The sharpest, worst rocks. So many pointy things. Things I have no words for other than pointy and angry.

There is a lapse in my memory. Maybe it was because I could not see. Maybe I was thinking of something better than where and what I was right then and there. Maybe I napped? It is a very real possibility that I napped for awhile. What I do remember is feeling the struggle of trying to get out of the vicious pile of hatred I had slid into. I remember trying to wiggle my paws and my belly as I used all of the energy I could muster to pick myself up and not be in the vicious pile of hatred I was stuck in.

The vines twirled around my paws. The sticks were poking through my fur. Something (maybe something alive) got stuck in my nose until I violently sneezed it out. For a moment, I do remember this, I knew I was going to be stuck in that horrible prison of forest leftovers forever. I even briefly considered accepting it, closing my eyes, and napping until all the painful little bits that held me down evaporated.

I did not, though. I began to bite and claw and make little growling sounds I had never heard myself make before. I kept fighting at the things that held me until I felt myself coming free. Finally, I wrestled it all away from me. I got on all four of my paws and ran away from it all. I kept running until my paws hurt too much to keep going, which was not very far. I was still able to see the miserable pile. I had gotten over it. I was free. I sat for a moment, catching my breath, staring at what I had escaped. It was not easy, but I had gotten through it.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on Facebook.

The acorns were not mine.

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When my belly is shouting at me to tend to it, using pain and anger to fuel my every decision, I cannot help but to eat nearly everything that comes into my sight. I have eaten some strange things, things that did not seem like food until I proved they were food. Crumpled leaves, fish skulls, anthills (including the ants sometimes), the wind (when it cooperates), things caught in the wind, basically everything inside any dumpster ever, sometimes the edges or corners of dumpsters, a bird once (more by accident and it was technically something that was caught in the wind (sorry, bird)). My mouth guides me on these occasions, and I become a furry ball of fury and teeth, claiming all chewable things as my meals.

Then I calm down.

It always happens.

I go off the edge while the hunger infects my very being, and then I fulfill whatever intangible thing causes me to be such a way, and then I calm down. Usually, when I calm down, I can look around, see the leftovers of the dumpster I was in, and move on with what happened. I ate some plastic bags filled with a dark liquid that smelled like burning? That is okay, I will move on. Oh, the tree I climb is missing a limb and my teeth hurt? That is okay, I will move on.

I was not able to move on recently.

I found a small cluster of acorns not very long ago. They were covered in leaves and pine needles and bits of dirt and my future shame and self-loathing. I smelled them from my cave. The wonderfully intoxicating aroma did not take long to pinpoint. With a small swipe of the claw, I was able to reveal the acorns. They were beautiful. They were delicious looking. They were delicious looking.

Without thinking, I hurled my jaws over the acorns and began to gobble them through my teeth and tongue and spit. In groups of two and three, I would go into the pile and further diminish the acorn reserve.

I ate them all.

When I calmed down, when I ceased to be the monster that I can so easily become, I realized that those acorns were not my acorns. That is probably true of most of the things I eat, of course. The dumpsters are not mine. The wind is not mine. The anthill is not mine. But something about this acorn collection, the way it was gathered so neatly and so beautifully, the way so many leaves and pine needles were so delicately placed and organized, it forced me to know they were not mine.

Someone was saving these acorns.

Someone was probably saving these acorns for when the hunger, the vicious, angry little beast that it can be, would infest their being. And when it happens to them, they will not have the comfort of an acorn reserve to soothe them.

Who knows what they might do.

I might have made a monster.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com

You can also now use Tumblr to address questions to Bear. Also, you can find bear photos and such on Bear’s Instagram, and don’t forget to “like” Bear on the book of faces.