It's just so nice when your pet isn't all needy. I need a lot of

Hear, O seekers of balance, the words of Kerli, who spoke thus: “It’s just so nice when your pet isn’t all needy. I need a lot of space, so dogs suffocate me.” Though spoken of animals, these words shine with greater meaning, for they unveil the eternal struggle between closeness and distance, between companionship and freedom, between love that clings and love that breathes.

The pet is here a symbol of relationship itself, a mirror of the bonds we form with others. Some creatures, like dogs, long for constant nearness, their loyalty expressed in shadowing every step. Others dwell content in their solitude, giving affection without demand, reminding us that not all bonds must be suffocating. To say “I need space” is not to despise love, but to honor the freedom that allows love to flourish without chains. For affection that clings too tightly becomes a prison, while affection that respects distance becomes a sanctuary.

To be free from the needy grasp is to breathe deeply, to remember that one’s soul has wings, and wings must stretch to remain strong. Even in human history, we find this truth repeated: many have fallen not from lack of love, but from love that was overbearing. The warrior who must ride to battle cannot carry with him a companion who clutches his cloak. The artist who must dream in silence cannot endure voices demanding constant attention. To suffocate is to silence the soul’s purpose, and this Kerli rejects.

Consider, O listener, the tale of the philosopher Diogenes of Sinope. He lived in simplicity, dwelling in a barrel, scorning the excesses of society. When Alexander the Great stood before him and asked if he desired anything, Diogenes replied: “Yes. Stand out of my sunlight.” In this moment, he showed the same truth as Kerli’s words: that even the greatest company is unwelcome if it intrudes upon the soul’s need for space. For freedom is the breath of the spirit, and no presence, however glorious, may take its place.

The meaning of Kerli’s words is clear: we are not all fashioned to thrive under constant closeness. Some souls burn brighter in solitude, some hearts beat truer when given distance. To feel suffocated is not weakness, but awareness. It is the recognition that harmony is not found in endless proximity, but in the sacred dance of approach and retreat, closeness and space. Just as the tides kiss the shore but also withdraw, so too must relationships learn rhythm, or else both drown.

Thus the lesson stands: seek balance in all bonds. Do not cling so tightly to those you love that they cannot breathe, nor flee so far that they forget your face. Respect the spaces between souls, for within those spaces, love can rest, grow, and return stronger. A pet that is not needy, a friend who honors your silence, a companion who walks beside you but not upon you—these are the treasures that bring peace.

Practical action follows: learn to speak your needs without fear, to say “I require space” without shame, and to grant the same to others. If you are inclined to cling, temper your affection with patience. If you are inclined to distance, temper your solitude with warmth. In this way, neither will suffocate, and both will thrive. For love is not measured by constant nearness, but by the freedom to be fully oneself, while still choosing to return.

Therefore, O child of tomorrow, let Kerli’s words echo in your heart: do not mistake suffocation for love, nor absence for abandonment. Walk with others as the stars walk with the night sky—close enough to shine together, yet each with room to burn in their own brilliance.