Please, please, please don’t make me sit at a desk.
As a child, I gazed out California school windows as sunshine dripped from the heavens above. That was enough ass-in-seat time for an entire life.
Think of all the young people sitting in similar rooms today, their bodies prematurely crumpling, congealing, and stiffening.
Think of all the “knowledge workers” hunched over desks and perched afront laptops. Think of all the security guards, bus drivers, cashiers, and assembly line workers.
The answer isn’t standing desks or longer recess.
The answer is less school, and less work.
Run me like a Border Collie: through parks, across cities, down trails. Ask me to ford a river or traverse a mountain range. Put me on a bicycle, skateboard, kayak, or skis: anything that rolls, floats, or glides.
Give me that full-body high: the kind that follows a long day’s hike, a 10-mile run, a lake swim, a multi-hour cycle, an epic frisbee session, or an all-night dance party.
Moving till exhaustion is how I think, I feel, and I dream.
It’s how remember that I am, in fact, alive.
I type these words while standing in a kitchen, laptop on a shelf, music playing. If focused, I’ll be still for a few minutes—then I gyrate my hips, switch my weight, and stand on one leg. Sometimes I walk away, rest my eyes, circle my shoulders, and do a little dance. Maybe I’ll pace the apartment, stretch on a yoga mat, or clean the dishes. After my few hours of genuine mental effort are spent, I’ll relax on the couch with a book, take a run in the hills, or bike through the city.
Self-employment can imprison our bodies as readily as regular employment.
The point of working for yourself isn’t to replicate inhumane conditions in the comfort of your own home, coworking center, or café.
The point is to liberate your mind and your body.
Are we “meant” to constantly move our bodies? Are we “not meant” to sit at desks?
I’m weary of such arguments, even when they have a few million years of evolution on their side.
Human bodies are adaptable. Some people sit happily, all day long. If the only real alternatives are backbreaking agricultural labor or 11-hour factory shifts—as they’ve been for so many, for so long—I’d probably take a desk, too. And for those whose bodies don’t function as they wish, a desk-bound existence can spell liberation.
But for my body, my place, my time—desks are not my liberation. Ever since I received a choice in the matter, I’ve avoided them. No office jobs. No unnecessary meetings, no pointless lectures. No sitting inside on sunny days, wishing I were elsewhere.
Even when liberated, we forget to move. We get sucked into screens. We sit too long in cars and planes. I’ve neglected my body and paid the price.
I know, with absolute certainty, that movement is what I’m meant for.
So bring on the AI revolution—not the one that murders us all, but the one that eats the most mundane jobs, shortens everyone’s working hours, and liberates young people from the 19th-century classroom.
Bring on the dirtbag rich—those who deliberately choose to work less, earn less, and spend more time moving their bodies through nature.
Bring on whatever allows our inner Border Collies, Basset Hounds, Saint Bernards, and Pugs to thrive.
More runs, more walks and dances, more naps and cuddles—and less deskbound toil.
Give me that world.