The Wolf vs The Technologist

Have you ever seen a blissed-out dog sticking its head out the window of a passing car? Dogs don’t have human facial features, so you can't really tell when they’re smiling, but we just know when they’re really digging a vibe. Something about open wind really brings them to life. Whenever I see a dog gleefully biting at a breeze, I wonder if there’s some spiritual transaction happening. The genetic wild previously known in some descendent of that dog is coming alive. Some wolf in full sprint through an open field hundreds of years ago is having its genetic ears scratched.

I consider this phenomenon often — because I too suffer from this condition.

I’ve always preferred open wind to the quiet comfort of stale air. Some of my fondest memories in this life are of driving the windy and scenic road up Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga Tennessee. The sunroof and all four windows are down. Indie rock and roaring air combine like a perfectly mixed martini in the background. A cigarette dangles from the corner of my mouth leaving whisps of smoke traveling through the sunroof into the cold mountain air. My already unkempt curly blonde hair gets teased into further disarray. The sun begins to set, casting golden violet light across the valley. I look over at the beauty, reveling in the rosy glow on my wind-whipped cheeks, and let out a deep sigh: a moment of timelessness. This is quickly followed by a realization of pain — for I am brought back to the reality of fleetingness. This moment, like all, shall pass. I think that’s what melancholy means to me. It’s a pleasurable sadness that comes from staring at Death in the eyes while feeling Joy’s gaze.

I often get a creeping sense of disillusionment when thinking about the gifts of modernity. Have we, like dogs, sacrificed our nature’s deepest cravings for the safety and convenience of technological masters?