How much are we truly living in our bodies?
Considering the Body: A Personal Inquiry into Modern Life
If we take the average human lifespan to be 70 years, I spent half of mine avoiding any form of structured physical activity. I didn’t merely neglect sports — I actively disliked them. I recoiled from the culture that surrounded athleticism: the unspoken codes, the camaraderie, the very values of routine and discipline. But what changed this deeply ingrained aversion? And what, in hindsight, have I gained?
The Age of Solitude: Foresight and Fear of a Future Alone
We live in an era that seems curiously fascinated with solitude. Restaurants now cater to the solitary diner, while self-help literature abounds with slogans about “embracing loneliness” and “finding completeness within.” We are told to revel in our own company, to become self-sufficient islands in an ocean of fleeting social interactions.
This narrative is further propelled by the aftermath of the pandemic, the rise of technology, and the omnipresence of artificial intelligence. It seems that every step forward in modernity pushes us further into isolation, making genuine human connection a rarity.
In the midst of this shifting landscape, I found myself, one day at 35, reflecting on what my life might look like at 50. “Will you still be able to cook for yourself? Will you manage your daily chores and personal needs unaided?” The questions lingered, unsettlingly close. The prospect of a future shaped by inactivity — a body weakened by years of desk-bound routine and indifferent eating habits — felt all too real. This realization, sparked by a fear of physical decline, was the catalyst that spurred me into action.
Fear as the Origin of a Personal Philosophy
I began exercising not out of a desire to improve myself in the traditional sense, but out of a deep-seated fear — fear of losing autonomy, of being physically incapable as I aged. There was no grand plan, no well-organized fitness regime. I simply walked into a local gym one day and started.
But something unexpected happened: what began as a response to fear became the foundation for a personal philosophy — a philosophy of “mind-body integration” and, more importantly, “living in the body.”
Modern Disconnection: Living Outside of Ourselves
We live in a world that systematically disconnects us from the tangible. In the not-so-distant past, human beings were required to use their bodies to engage with the world — to build, to lift, to produce. Now, the interface is touchscreens and buttons, and even those are being replaced by gestures and voice commands. No more pressing of keys or turning of knobs; everything is digital, instantaneous, and, most crucially, disembodied.
Our physical presence, once an essential part of human existence, is slowly being relegated to the background, like an artifact of a bygone era. We are becoming ghosts in our own machines — spectators rather than participants in the very bodies we inhabit.
Here’s an example: Have you ever poured yourself a cup of coffee, only to realize moments later that you’ve already finished it, with no recollection of the act? Or tried to teach someone how to hold a guitar, only to find that the once-familiar positioning of fingers now feels alien?
This disconnect manifests in subtle ways throughout our lives. Many of us, myself included, have become physically clumsy with tasks our ancestors performed naturally. Running, throwing a ball, or even walking briskly can feel jarring, as if we are borrowing someone else’s limbs.
Reclaiming the Body Through Movement
In this context, exercise transcends its traditional role as a pathway to fitness or aesthetic improvement. For me, it became a tool to reconnect with my body — a deliberate practice of tuning in to the physical self. As I lifted weights or practiced new movements, I noticed how alien my own muscles felt, as if they were unfamiliar instruments I hadn’t touched in years. But slowly, through repetition, I began to reclaim them.
This return to “body awareness” was more than just a workout routine; it was a way to reintegrate my mind and body into a harmonious whole. Fitness, strength, and even physical appearance became secondary. The true value of exercise was its ability to remind me that I inhabit this body — that it is not merely a vessel to be fed, cared for, and shown off, but a living, dynamic part of my existence.
In an age dominated by the mind — where we value intellect, imagination, and virtual interactions over physical experience — exercise became my means of asserting the reality of my body. It was a quiet rebellion against the modern tendency to live outside ourselves.
How Much Do We Truly Live in Our Bodies?
While you sit reading this, have you considered your posture? Are you aware of the way you are breathing, the position of your limbs, the tension in your muscles? How often do you pause to notice these things throughout the day?
In a world that increasingly encourages us to live in our heads, how much are we truly living in our bodies?
