But no, I wouldn't trade places with Kit or Daisy. Their bodies might have a flexibility I covet, but their minds are rigid. Cats like routine and uniformity, and are not kindly disposed toward adjusting to new things. That's fine for them, but I seek flexibility of mind, too.
I believe that mental rigidness will age me far faster than osteoarthritis. The day you hear me say, "But no. I've always done it this way," you can reserve my room at the old age home.
Sure, some routine gives order to life and nudges us past rough spots. But I want to be able to handle interrruptions to the routine that give me new knowledge, new perspectives and new experiences. I want to try to see someone else's side of the story, to sample unfamiliar foods, to listen to new music. I want a flexible mind.
Island life promotes flexibility. You can't always get the exact tool you need, so you figure out how to get the job done without it. Shortages at the stores encourage recipe experimentation, reminding you that there's more than one way to make just about anything. Tourists bring different experiences and ways of thinking.
I try to remember the lessons of the island when I write, too. There's probably more than one way for my character to be reunited with her soul mate; let me try doing that scene with less "Hollywood" and more quiet.
"This is the way it has to be" has its place: rules of the road, punctuation, the laws of physics, etc. As for the rest? Be cool. Be flexible.
And it probably would do us good to also stretch like a cat now and then.