A Judge friend wrote an opinion where he wondered how Armadillos made their way into Arkansas from Texas. After all, they don’t travel very far in the world and they rarely make it across the street or highway.
My friend’s observation about the armadillo’s slow, persistent march from Texas to Arkansas is more than a biological curiosity—it’s a metaphor for how change occurs. The armadillo doesn’t migrate; it simply persists, reproduces, and, against all odds, creeps across state lines, highways, and generational divides. Its progress is not defined by intent or speed, but by unintentional, relentless presence.
This is the essence of the 21st-century. The cellphone and the Internet are the ultimate armadillos. They didn’t arrive with a clear contract defining their boundaries; they simply became slightly more useful, slightly more present, until they occupied the very center of our existence. They brought utility, but also the low-level hum of perpetual distraction.
The true meditation, then, is asking what other armadillos have quietly burrowed into our lives that we wish we could evict or exterminate. These are not malicious invaders, but creeping habits, dependencies, and cultural assumptions that have drained our time, peace, or finances.
Modern Armadillos of mine include the expectation of instant responsiveness, transforming every quiet moment into a potential alarm clock for someone else’s urgency. The endless trickle of minor monthly fees—apps, services, streaming—that, individually negligible, collectively devour a significant chunk of change. The tendency to scroll through curated highlight reels of others’ lives. The belief that every hobby, interest, or potential future self requires immediate purchase, leading to closets full of unused gear, how-to books, and digital clutter.
We cannot truly exterminate technology, but we can mitigate its intrusion and reclaim the territory of our attention. The key is to stop fighting the armadillo with speed and instead fight it with boundaries and persistence. Before you can remove an armadillo, you must know where it lives. Identify the single biggest source of friction, distraction, or expense that crept into your routine over the last year, and make the environment inhospitable.
The armadillo moved in because the space was vacant. Fill the reclaimed time and attention with intentional, high-value activities—reading, meditation and prayer, meaningful conversation, or simply stillness.
The armadillo’s journey proves that small, persistent movements can change the landscape. Our liberation lies in reversing that process.
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