Parrots make great pets. They have more personality than

“Parrots make great pets. They have more personality than goldfish.” These words, uttered by the irreverent Chevy Chase, may seem to some like a lighthearted jest, but within them lies a deeper reflection on the nature of companionship and the life force that resides within all living beings. Chase, in his typical wit, highlights a fundamental truth: that personality, that spark of individuality and vitality, is what makes any creature truly memorable. While a goldfish might swim in endless circles within its small, watery world, the parrot, vibrant and dynamic, lives not only with colorful feathers but with a mind that can echo the very sounds of human speech—an echo that invites conversation, play, and mutual understanding.

The ancient philosophers would have reveled in this idea of personality. They spoke of virtue and character as the core of what it meant to be human, yet they also understood that these qualities existed in all creatures. The Greeks, with their deep respect for the natural world, believed that the soul of a person could be seen in their interactions with animals, that even the humblest of creatures possessed some measure of divine essence. The Stoics would argue that everything, from the smallest ant to the most majestic bird, had its place in the grand cosmos, and that the nature of these creatures could teach us much about our own lives.

Consider the noble horse, a creature of great dignity, whose spirit and personality can be sensed in its every stride. It is not the animal's form that defines it, but its character, its presence in the world, and its unique way of interacting with its surroundings. So too, the parrot—bright and charismatic—becomes more than just an object in its environment. Chevy Chase's comparison suggests that we are drawn to life not only because of what it can do, but because of what it is—how it expresses itself. The parrot speaks back to us, and in that exchange, it offers a glimpse of intelligence and spirit that transcends the stillness of the goldfish bowl.

The story of Alexander the Great, who kept a cherished horse named Bucephalus, offers another lesson. Bucephalus was not just a beast of burden; he was Alexander's companion, a creature with a will and presence all his own, one who moved with the same fervor and passion that drove the young king himself. This bond, forged through mutual respect, became a symbol of the connection between humans and animals that can transcend utility and become something deeper. It is not enough, as Chase might suggest, to have a creature that simply "exists." We crave the vibrancy and the personality of life—whether it comes in the form of a parrot, a horse, or another companion.

Yet, there is more in this comparison. Goldfish, quiet and unassuming, symbolize a certain kind of life—one that passes in an endless cycle, looping around its small existence. These creatures are not without value, but they reflect the quiet, sometimes monotonous, nature of living without engaging the world in a deeper way. They remind us of those times in our lives when we might feel disconnected, drifting in circles without purpose or direction. In contrast, the parrot represents the opposite: the call to engagement, the invitation to connect, to express oneself, and to be heard.

Consider how this truth echoes through history. Think of the philosophers who sought to engage the world, who challenged the status quo with questions and answers that demanded deeper reflection. Socrates, for instance, was not a figure who existed in silence. His whole life was a dialogue, a pursuit of knowledge, a challenge to conventional wisdom. The parrot speaks, and through its speech, it encourages us to speak—to break free from the silent, solitary existence of the goldfish and find our voice in the world.

The lesson here, then, is not merely to choose vibrant, expressive creatures over those that are passive, but to reflect upon our own lives and personalities. Are we living like the goldfish, swimming without direction, or are we like the parrot, engaged, vibrant, and willing to speak out, to share our gifts with the world? The ancients taught that each of us is tasked with finding our own voice, our own unique presence in the world, and expressing it freely, as the parrot does. The creatures around us—whether they are goldfish, parrots, or any other—serve as reminders of the many ways that life itself can be lived.

In our own lives, we must ask ourselves: Do we value personality and connection, or do we allow ourselves to become trapped in monotonous routines that offer little more than a quiet existence? The choice, as always, is ours. Just as Chevy Chase cleverly contrasts the lively parrot with the subdued goldfish, so too must we contrast the dynamic and engaged life with one that merely drifts in place. We are called to step outside the bowl and take part in the grand dance of life, where each voice, like the parrot’s, can be heard and contribute to the symphony of existence.