What is it about the war with the human body? Are you guys aware of the articles w/r/t sitting? Sitting, if current sentiment is to be believed, is killing us (our muscles, our bones, our metabolisms). And working out and eating right won't save us from that billowing, butt-hugging harbinger of death, the couch, and his pestilence swinging sidekick, the ergonomic desk chair. But I find myself crashed upon by wave and wave of trends about what will kill me, feeling worn down, smoothed and polished by time, and am uninterested in keeping more of myself than I need to survive. Modernity is seemingly at odds with history. But this has always been the case. Modernity is new only in branding. Look no further than generational attitudes.
Which is to say, as I've said before, the modern era has created all sorts of interesting new problems, and surely a progression towards the kind of life where we are inactive for long periods of the day is new. Hell, we may even need to address it in our own ways, trying to stand more (i recommend cooking dinner every day, and listening to a nice podcast while you chop) or who knows exactly. But the fatalism is not only unnecessary, it's harmful. Dare I say, worse than sitting? In advertising, sex sells, in journalism, fear is the figurehead. And it's a fear of the unknown. Which creates the myth that not knowing will kill you. I do not think that we are doomed to die because of sitting. I believe we are doomed to die because that is the agreement made upon leaving the womb (your first wail is a verbal agreement). It's an early age to sign a contract, but all beings are equal in it, so no sense trying to lawyer your way out of it.
Saying we're all going to die doesn't make it any less scary, but isn't that what we talk about when we villainize our modern peccadillos? We deign to have short memories by nature. But how else could we survive? To list simply the objects in our lives that have been linked to cancer would be an overwhelming exercise, and ultimately challenging to our general feelings of personal safety. What about every environmental disaster? Every Geico mascot? Every time a cat tackled a small child? Every time a movie or show enhanced an image to solve a crime? We should not be defined solely by our collective unconscious. There's an ungodly amount of stuff out there. Better not to drown in it.
We forget things that are emotionally taxing to process. We move through them quicker. We adapt even to tragedies. We set checkpoints to ration our caring, because otherwise we might turn into the creatures that cried themselves out of existence. Homo sapiens tearductus enormus (extinct). The ability to face the digital avalanche and dig yourself out with anything resembling a sense of self and a satchel full of priorities is quite a feat.
So now Gregory Allen Topscher, 28, full of yogurt and peanut butter, a cup of green tea, 25mg of zoloft, two supplements of glucosamin chondroitin for my runner's knee, cradling a hot laptop that is potentially killing off sperm in my testicles, feel guilt as I sit to write this blog post. Guilt, because I'm sitting. How I would write this while standing, I can only imagine. My back aches at even the notion (or my wallet). I've been on a reading TEAR recently and have been loving every minute of it. Except there's this wordless thought floating amongst the cerebrospinal fluid. It's like a junebug that's singed a wing and smacks against the man-made magic of the lightbulb and all that supports it. It sputters and it's sputtering is a gentle saw.
I try to shield myself from the heat radiating off of the treasure of common knowledge. All good wisdom is not new. All new discoveries are not foolproof. And while some of our ancestors were farmers and machinists and coal shovelers, many of our ancestors sat at desks, and had gout and runner's knees. They lived lives very different from ours, but they were not condemned to total darkness because of a lack of research funding. The darkness within man, is old. The pain of living is ancient. And our job is to find our armor against the world, while still feeling the breeze, earning our shade and one day, layering down, and submitting to the source mother. St. Peter will tally our every step and minute of sitting, and you will ask him to please skip to the good parts. We're a Netflix type of people now.
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