Months ago, on a bathroom wall in the Valley Life Sciences Building, I found faded red letters that posed the question, “Why do we allow our selves to live in a world of poisons that are not quite fatal?” For all the question’s profundity, restroom users were generally hesitant to reply. Just one response, “Good question!” was scribbled before the walls were thoroughly cleaned. Though the words are now scrubbed away, an echo of sorts has continued to resonate with me.
We allow ourselves to live in a world of poisons because, frankly, there is not much we can do about it. Case in point: My Unit 1 dorm, the building in which I write this article, is in “the presence of numerous substances known to the state to cause cancer,” according to the cheery Proposition 65 warning on the door. But I’m not planning on leaving the building’s shelter in protest or fear. To be constantly wary of disease-causing materials would mean dashing from place to place in a foolish attempt to outrun the inevitable. Soaking up the asbestos seems to be the less exhausting option here.
These days, everything seems to be a carcinogen — dormitories, cooked meat, cellphones, soy, even alcohol. The list is endless. No matter how ostensibly “good” or “natural” or “healthy” something is, it will probably kill you if used or ingested it in excess. Moderation is the purported hero of these battles, but how can a person balance his whole life when balancing a fall semester schedule is challenging enough?
The idea of simply succumbing to toxicity is tempting when facing the “world of poisons.” In Heideggerian philosophy, there is this notion that each second of our lives, we are coping with — dealing with — our state of being in the world. As we cope, says philosopher Martin Heidegger, we are “running ahead” toward our ultimate possibility: death. In other words, every moment is a struggle to be in tandem with the flow of people and events around us. Each of these moments brings us one step closer to the end.
Accepting that the world is slowly poisoning us, fatally or otherwise, is dismal. Here is an even drearier thought: What if the most pernicious of all these toxins were self-inflicted? What if, instead of the world poisoning us, we were the ones imposing such harm on ourselves?
In college, there is an underlying feeling that destructive habits are OK because they are temporary. Pulling a few consecutive all-nighters is innocuous enough because we can make up for the lack of sleep once the weekend rolls around. An hour at the gym can be sacrificed when the workload becomes too heavy. Ramen wins over home-cooked meals because it can save you a few extra minutes. Or maybe you’re the guy who sleeps enough, exercises daily and eats right, but as soon as Friday night hits, you drink so much you forget which way is home.
Everyone is guilty of self-destruction to some degree. A good friend of mine — a smoker — once bought this huge box of cigarettes in bulk. On each face of the boxes were warnings in bold, black ink. One read, “Smoking reduces blood flow and causes impotence.” None of the warnings bothered him. A cig was just a temporary stress relief. Quitting is always possible down the road.
We have no control over most of the toxic crap the world flings at us. The few lifestyle choices that we actually have a say in should give us the chance to enrich our health, to enrich every second of our lives. Sure, the little decisions might not amount to much. Extending your life just a few years longer doesn’t seem to be a grand award. And as for the present moment, it is also true that spending an hour at the gym will likely take away from time that could have otherwise been spent studying for that upcoming midterm. But living a healthy, wholesome life is not about the end result or the present need. It’s about making the slow march to death as enjoyable as it can possibly be.
Contact Kimberly Veklerov at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter: @kveklerov.