I would like to begin by saying that I do not endorse eating your coworkers.

Let’s just get that out of the way.

However.

When I read that a female shark in a Seoul aquarium ate a male shark after he repeatedly bumped into her, I felt something deeply human rise within me.

Not hunger.
Recognition.

Because somewhere between the third unsolicited “quick ping” and the fourth person standing slightly too close in a meeting, we have all had the thought of  what if I just handled this decisively?

Now, before HR gets involved, let’s unpack what really happened.

Two sharks.
One tank.
Limited space.
One apparently unaware, or deeply committed to ignoring, basic spatial etiquette.

The experts say it was a “territorial dispute.”

Psychologists (hi) might call it
chronic boundary violation with escalating consequences.

Because here’s the thing no one tells you about adulthood setting boundaries is hard. Maintaining boundaries is harder. And enforcing boundaries without becoming a cautionary tale on the evening news? Nearly impossible.

We are taught to:

> Be polite
>Be accommodating
> “Circle back” instead of say stop circling me
>Smile while someone metaphorically elbows us in the ribs for the fifth time

Meanwhile, somewhere in an aquarium, a shark said I’m done.

Not a soft no.
Not a “let’s revisit this later.”
Not a “per my last email.”

A definitive, unforgettable, National Geographic-level no.

Now again, to be clear, I am not suggesting escalation to aquatic cannibalism.

But I am suggesting we take a moment to reflect on the spectrum of responses available to us.

Level 1: Gentle hint
Level 2: Direct communication
Level 3: Firm boundary
Level 4: Strategic withdrawal
Level 5: Become a shark (figuratively, please calm down)

Because too often, we skip Levels 2–4 entirely and live permanently in Level 1, wondering why people keep bumping into us, emotionally, professionally, energetically.

Spoiler alert here!
If you never move, never speak, and never push back, people assume the space is theirs.

The shark, on the other hand, had a different philosophy. This tank is not a group project.

There’s also something deeply honest about the immediacy of it all.

No passive aggression.
No overthinking.
No three-hour debrief with a friend about whether the bumping was intentional.

Just instinct, action, resolution.

(And, admittedly, a deeply inconvenient digestion process.)

But here’s where we land, back on dry land, with our Slack messages and shared Google Docs.

The goal is not to become the shark. The goal is to stop becoming the tank.

To recognize when your space and your time, your energy, your sanity is being encroached upon and to respond before you are metaphorically digesting your life choices.

Because boundaries are not about aggression. They are about clarity.

And clarity, unlike shark behavior, rarely ends up on the news.

Still if someone bumps into you one more time on the train tomorrow, just know that somewhere, evolution is whispering, that there are other options.

You’re just choosing not to use them.

Growth.