There’s a certain blunt honesty in nature that people often overlook. No sugarcoating, no pretending—just raw, observable truth. One of the simplest yet most telling examples is the relationship between flies and feces. It’s not pretty, it’s not poetic in the traditional sense, but it is deeply symbolic. Flies are drawn to mess. Not just any mess, but the freshest, most pungent, most active kind. And if you look closely, that same pattern plays out in human behavior more often than we’d like to admit.
Think about it. A pile of waste sitting in the open doesn’t stay alone for long. It attracts attention quickly.Flies seem to appear out of nowhere, circling, landing, feeding, multiplying. They don’t hesitate. They don’t question whether they should be there. They don’t consider the smell, the filth, or the health risk.
They’re drawn to it instinctively. The mess is not a deterrent—it’s the attraction.
Now shift that image from nature to human interactions.Replace the pile of waste with drama, gossip, conflict, or chaos. Replace the flies with people. Suddenly, the comparison becomes uncomfortably familiar.
There are individuals who are naturally drawn to mess—not because they have to be, but because they want to be. They seek out situations filled with tension, rumors, and negativity. They hover around it, engage with it, and often contribute to it.Just like flies don’t clean the waste but instead feed on it, these individuals don’t resolve issues—they amplify them.
At the center of this dynamic is the “pile”—the person or situation that produces the mess. In human terms, this could be someone who constantly stirs up drama, spreads gossip, or thrives on conflict. They run their mouth, exaggerate stories, twist narratives, and keep situations alive long after they should have died down. This person becomes the source—the proverbial pile of waste.
And just like in nature, the pile doesn’t stay unnoticed.
Flies gather.
These “flies” are the people who entertain the mess. They listen eagerly, ask questions not to understand but to dig deeper into the drama. They spread what they hear, adding their own spin. They laugh at the chaos, sympathize selectively, and keep the energy circulating. What’s important here is that flies don’t create the waste—but they absolutely sustain its presence. Without them, the pile would eventually dry out, break down, and disappear. With them, it remains active, relevant, and influential.
One of the most telling aspects of flies is their ability to ignore the stench. To an outside observer, the smell is unbearable. It’s obvious, overwhelming, and repulsive. But the flies don’t react. They don’t recoil.
They don’t hesitate. The stench doesn’t register as a warning—it registers as a signal. It tells them, “This is where you need to be.”
In the same way, people who gravitate toward mess often become desensitized to negativity. What would disturb or repel others becomes normal, even enjoyable, to them. Toxic conversations, constant complaints, disrespect, and chaos don’t push them away—they draw them in. They adapt to the environment, to the point where they no longer recognize it as unhealthy.
This desensitization is powerful. It allows people to stay in cycles of mess without feeling the need to step away. It also creates a kind of community—groups of individuals who bond over shared negativity. They validate each other’s involvement,making it seem acceptable, even necessary.
But here’s where the analogy deepens.
Flies don’t stay forever.
They are most attracted to the freshest waste. When something is new—when the smell is strongest, the texture most active, the presence most noticeable—that’s when flies swarm the most. Over time, as the waste dries out, loses its potency, and becomes less “interesting,” the flies begin to leave. They don’t remain loyal to the pile. They don’t stay out of commitment. They move on to the next fresh source.
This is perhaps the most revealing part of the comparison.
People who thrive on mess often behave the same way. When a situation is new—when drama is unfolding, when secrets are being revealed, when emotions are high—they are fully engaged. They are present, vocal, and invested. But as time passes and the situation loses its intensity, their interest fades.The conversations become repetitive. The excitement diminishes. The “buzz” is gone.
So they move on.
They look for the next situation, the next conflict,the next person to talk about. Not because they’ve resolved anything, but because they need a fresh source of stimulation. The old pile no longer satisfies them.
And what happens to the original source?
It’s left behind.
The person who was talked about, the situation that was amplified—it doesn’t just disappear cleanly. There are often lingering effects: damaged relationships, broken trust, emotional fallout. The flies may be gone, but the impact remains. The pile may have dried, but the stain is still there.
This cycle reveals something important about both roles in the analogy.
The “pile”—the person who constantly creates mess—may feel powerful in the moment. They have attention, influence, and a kind of control over the narrative. But that attention is conditional. It’s not rooted in respect or loyalty. It’s rooted in novelty.Once they are no longer “fresh,” they risk being abandoned just like any other source of drama.
The “flies”—the people who entertain the mess—may feel involved, informed, and connected. They are part of something active and engaging. But their role is ultimately reactive. They don’t create stability or resolution. They move from one situation to another, never building anything lasting, only consuming what’s already there.
Together, they create a system that sustains negativity.
But there’s another perspective worth considering—the perspective of those who choose not to engage.
In nature, not every creature is drawn to waste. Many avoid it entirely. They recognize the risk, the contamination, the lack of value.They move in different spaces, seek different sources, and operate under different instincts.
In human terms, these are the people who step away from drama. They don’t entertain gossip. They don’t spread rumors. They don’t linger in conversations that revolve around tearing others down. They may be aware of the mess, but they choose not to participate in it.
This choice often comes with a trade-off.
When you don’t engage in mess, you may be seen as distant, uninterested, or even uninformed. You’re not part of the “buzz.”You’re not contributing to the conversation. In environments where drama is common, this can make you stand out.
But it also protects you.
You’re not carrying the weight of someone else’s negativity. You’re not responsible for spreading harmful narratives. You’re not tied to cycles that repeat without growth. You maintain clarity, perspective, and integrity.
And perhaps most importantly, you don’t become dependent on mess for stimulation.
Because that’s what happens over time.
Just as flies are biologically wired to seek out waste, people can become psychologically conditioned to seek out drama. It becomes a habit. A source of entertainment. A way to feel involved or important. Without it, things may feel quiet, even boring.
But that quiet is not a deficiency—it’s a sign of stability.
It’s the absence of chaos, not the absence of meaning.
Breaking away from the cycle requires awareness. It requires recognizing when you’re being drawn toward mess and asking why. Is it curiosity? Boredom? A desire for connection? Validation?
Once you understand the pull, you can begin to resist it.
That doesn’t mean ignoring problems or avoiding difficult conversations. There’s a difference between addressing issues constructively and feeding into negativity. One leads to resolution. The other leads to repetition.
The analogy of flies and waste is not meant to insult—it’s meant to illuminate.
It shows how natural it is for certain patterns to emerge, but also how important it is to question them. Just because something is instinctive doesn’t mean it’s beneficial. Just because something is common doesn’t mean it’s healthy.
At any given moment, a person can choose which role they play.
You can be the source of mess, creating situations that attract attention but leave damage behind. You can be the one who hovers, feeds, and spreads, moving from one situation to the nextwithout ever building anything meaningful. Or you can step outside the cycle entirely, choosing clarity over chaos, substance over spectacle.
The truth is, mess will always exist.There will always be situations, people, and environments that generate drama. And there will always be those who are drawn to it.
But you don’t have to be one of them.
Because unlike flies, people have the ability to choose.
And that choice makes all the difference.