Modern life exposes soft underbelly of human nature

Modern life exposes soft underbelly of human nature
By Aaron J. Brown

For all our bluster, we humans are really just soft, pink beings that consume more than we should and run much more slowly than other mammals our size. Ancient humans learned this quickly, by necessity, after it was realized that saber-toothed tigers would eat them if presented the opportunity. So these humans banded together, forming coalitions of soft, pink people who would use their smarts to overcome larger and/or faster critters with sharper teeth or better flavor. Sure, they were in good shape. (Nothing gives you cut abs like fighting ancient bear-like creatures that I presume once existed). But they didn’t have cool rhino horns or awesome cheetah speed to protect them.

Life was hard, but simple, and always a little better for the children’s generation; unless, of course, it wasn’t (Ancient bear-like creatures gotta’ eat, after all).

Northern Minnesota developed rapidly over the past couple of centuries. People here have also learned about our soft pink nature, hence all the parkas and elaborate fish houses. But the place was also shaped by the hard, usually outdoor jobs that people here worked: Logging, mining, tending to lighthouses, and delivering mail in a sled pulled by something furry and durable.

This is the story of our people, but a story shared by many like us all over the globe. And it is a story that is changing as the rigor of human existence becomes even more mental and even less physical.

The other day we cleared weeds by a small strip of lakeshore down a winding path from our house. It’s the kind of outdoor task that challenges my, what are they now, muscles? Still, it’s a classic northern Minnesota activity, the kind of thing I saw countless relatives engage in as a young boy on the Iron Range. And I have to admit, I felt a strong sense of satisfaction in cutting down these weeds, wading into the water to clear sticks and lake sludge, creating a small beach for my family to swim and, OMG!, my cell phone is in my underwater pocket! Aaargh!

The moment was over. My time as a hard, tough human conquering nature gave way to mourning over the loss of an object key to the life of a soft, modern technocrat.

I heard somewhere you can dry a wet cell phone, take out its battery and air the whole works out. Sometimes the phone will survive if you do that. Yes, I heard this somewhere, somewhere vague and possibly a product of my delusion. I tried this. As I write this the phone is on my kitchen counter, drying. Sporadically, elements of the phone will light up, but we’re still a long way from functionality.

Soft. Pink. Human. Here I am worked up about this phone, when I had just carved out my mark on the landscape of property that belongs to me. ME! I removed weeds! I shaped land to suit my needs. I am seriously thinking about buying a dock. Maybe. Anyway, when I do I will put it wherever I want! So long as the DNR agrees! And also the county zoning board!

Anyway, that’s what I really love about living in northern Minnesota. We are always on the front between the old ways of human adaptation, once manifested as building fire and later manifested as making a lawn mower operate much longer than its manufacturer intended, and the new ways of using technology to compensate for human weaknesses. The battle is always raging, which keeps things interesting – even if it might cost me a phone.