Danger: Bodily Comfort

Unless I was a wealthy monarch, I would not want to have lived centuries ago. Most other people back then had difficult and uncomfortable lives. I enjoy today’s middle-class creature comforts. But maybe I shouldn’t, or at least not too much. I’m at the tail end of Daniel Lieberman’s The Story of the Human Body that traced early hominid hunter-gatherer bodily adaptations to the mis-adapted lifestyles of the twenty-first century.

 

In his chapter “The Hidden Dangers of Novelty and Comfort”, Lieberman explains why we
mistake comfort for well-being: “Who doesn’t love a state of physical ease? It is pleasant to avoid toiling for long hours, sitting on the hard ground, or being too hot or too cold… I am sitting in chair to write these words because it is more comfortable than standing… [when I] go to work, I can take an elevator to my office’s floor to avoid the stress of climbing the stairs. I can then sit in comfort for the rest of the day in another climate-controlled room. The foods I eat will require little effort to procure or consume, the water in my shower will be just the right temperature, and the bed in which I sleep tonight will be soft and warm.”

 

No, I’m not giving up my climate-controlled indoors, my warm showers, or my mattress. Nor would I want to hunt and gather food out in the wild. I wouldn’t survive. Or maybe I would and hunter-gatherer survival instincts might kick in. I recently replaced my ten-year old firm mattress with another firm one, because I think the old sagging one was exacerbating my lower back problems. Having a sedentary job where I sit in front of a computer most of the day is likely the root cause. It’s bad for my back, my shoulders, my eyes, and likely my muscles and bones which I don’t notice as much. I am trying to correct for this with daily stretching exercises and a regular walk (that is likely not long or brisk enough). My doctor told me that I needed to get more aerobic exercise walking uphill. I started doing that this year by parking further away from my building at the bottom of a hill. It has probably done me some good.

 

Reading Lieberman’s timeline of developmental bodily changes in children makes me thankful that I grew up in the twentieth century in a developing country where I was barefoot much of the time, didn’t spend all my time indoors, and ran around enjoying being outdoors even with crappy weather that today’s me thinks is darn uncomfortable. I did read a lot growing up but was lucky to only have mild myopia – I can only thank random gene assortment because two of my siblings have terrible myopia. We didn’t have comfortable sofas growing up and our mattresses were much, much thinner. Nor was there easy access to ultra-processed foods. And my bicycle was my main mode of transportation. Today’s kids are in a very different environment even in my home country. They spend most of their time indoors, ride in cars, spend gobs of time on mobile phones or tablets, and partake of the myriad conveniences of modern life.

 

Lieberman picks out three things to discuss: shoes (for feet) versus being barefoot and the nature of walking, how the shape of your eyeballs change with focused reading (be it a book or a screen) and not having diverse outdoor visual stimuli, and sitting too much thanks to the ubiquity of comfortable chairs. They were all eye-openers. As of yesterday I am now trying to look up and look outside while reading or being on my computer. I’m making sure I get up and stretch because I know I’m sitting for too long. I started going on extra walks and try to increase briskness. Now that my semester is ending I have to be even more cognizant about being active and looking away from a screen. Going to class and being in office hours helped with my being more active.

 

None of this is new. I had previous phases where I would be more mindful of my posture and being active. But after some time, I get lazy. And being older means I have less energy, and honestly, less of a desire to be active. I know I’m losing muscle mass and some days I do something about it, but other days I don’t. Why oh why do we default to ease and comfort? It’s just easier in the short-term even though I know it’s not good in the long-term. Good habits are so easy to break and much harder to re-form. I suppose I need constant reminders, and Lieberman’s book helps in this regard.