I pinched a piece of bread from my sandwich and threw it. He quickly descended on it, put it in his mouth, and swallowed instantly without chewing. I did it a second time with the same response, but this time, he noticed that two contenders were competing for his bread. He got very angry and chased the others away, protecting his territory. He saw us first!

Grace and I were on the beach for a few hours, enjoying the sights and sounds of water, sky and interesting people. A particular seagull had taken interest in our lunch, so I started to give him a few scraps.

For well over an hour, this particular seagull did not leave. He just waited anxiously for the next handout. Here, a piece of bread, there, the kernel of a pistachio nut, all were snapped up with efficiency. Whenever a competitor moved in, the “owner of the yard” raised his feathers, hunched his back in a fighting position and squawked out a fierce battle cry. If another bird succeeded in getting a piece of HIS food, a quick air battle would ensue right before our eyes. All competitors were routinely chased off.

For the past three decades, I’ve been a keen student of human motivation, thinking and behavior. The things I’ve learned have both delighted and disturbed me. Today, my learning continued. I have contended that everything in nature is made in immeasurable abundance and there is no known limit in the universe, except in our minds. Guess what, we humans are not the only ones to practice scarcity, selfishness and protectionism.

Someone characterized life on the planet as “survival of the fittest” and it was clearly visible today among the birds. After more than a dozen pieces of bread and pistachio, this seagull was still aggressively defending his supply. Furthermore, the bird was scared of us. Just by raising a foot suddenly, we caused the bird to back up and run. When the food was deposited too close to us, he wouldn’t come close enough to get it. We were the suppliers…the masters. We represented food AND danger, and he was respecting our territory in the same way he expected other birds to respect his. He was afraid to leave, go to play and return at will. The other birds may take over, or his suppliers may disappear, so he stayed in constant tension, grabbing and defending.

Enter the baby seagulls. They were beautiful and tiny…no more than about four inches from head to tail. They ran freely near the edge of the ocean. As each wave dashed onto the beach, a deposit of small fish and other marine delicacies was left behind. The tiny seagulls had a grand time plucking food from the shallow, receding water. There was abundance—a limitless supply—more food than they could devour. In the mean time, the adult bird continued to wait, squawk and defend its territory, hoping for another small handout from the humans it feared.

Why do I share this story with you? I believe you and I are too much like that seagull. Surrounded by abundant supply, we often operate on scarcity and fiercely fight to defend the little we have. We complain about being “broke,” but it’s not due to a shortage of money, for money is abundantly available. We feel lonely, but it’s not due to a shortage of companionship or people to love us. It may be that we have “unlearned” the ways that were instinctive to us as children.

Children play, eat, sleep and fantasize about the future, unfettered by adult problems. In a similar way, consider the birds of the air—especially the baby birds. They do not plant or reap or store food in barns, and yet God feeds them all abundantly. Aren’t you and I much more valuable than they? And can we add one single inch to our height by worrying? No.

As an adult, do you ever find yourself in a job where you can’t hardly tolerate your boss— in fact, you dread him or her, but you keep going back, sweating it…fighting for what’s yours, waiting for another favor, all the time, apprehensive, defensive and worried? What about relationships? Do you suffer abuse repeatedly, out of a sense of scarcity, afraid to lose that which is not worth keeping? Now, I’m not suggesting that relationships are ever perfect; and running away is literally the last resort reserved for someone in clear and present danger. However, I urge you to consider the birds.

Okay, so we are not birds; we have to work, struggle to overcome adversity and get money to pay the bills. That’s understood. However, adversity, work and money problems weigh even heavier when we compound them with worry, fear, selfishness and a sense of scarcity that signals impending doom.

‘Amazing what you can learn by just sitting still before the ocean. Here’s what I learned. If I grab, push and shove to protect what I have, and depend daily on people of whom I’m afraid, I’ll never experience fullness of life. First, I must trust that there is measureless abundance of the good outcomes that I seek; second, I have to relinquish my hold…my tight hold…on other people and on material possessions.

How did this seaside story end? A little boy, about four years old, took interest in our seagull and began to chase it. Having become the target of a human predator, the seagull flew off and never returned…just like that, it vanished and left it’s previous battleground undefended. So it is with me. One day, I too will have to disappear from this place where I fought to defend my own, and life will go on as if I never struggled. Therefore, why struggle? Rather than grab and worry in the midst of plenty, I must practice kindness and sharing; I must learn to trust—trust that the game of life was designed for me to win it. How about you?

Take it from me, this attitude will give you altitude.

Alvin