Upward Bound: The Primitive Relic of Height in Our Modern Lives
As humans, we live in a world shaped by relics of our evolutionary past, and few are as pervasive as our preference for height. From the skyscrapers we build to the bedrooms we sleep in, the allure of elevation persists. Even our language reflects this bias: we "look up" to people we admire, keep our "chins up" during hard times, and aspire to "reach the top." But where does this instinct come from, and does it still serve us today?
Sleeping in the Trees: Safety and Stars
Imagine a gorilla in the forest, carefully layering thick green leaves into a makeshift mattress on a sturdy Y-shaped branch. Perched high above the ground, it has the dual benefit of safety from predators and a clear view of the stars. This instinct to sleep elevated provided a survival advantage to our ancestors, keeping them out of reach from danger while fostering a sense of security in the vastness of the natural world.
Fast forward to the modern human bedroom. If you have the option, you likely sleep upstairs. The elevation is no longer about escaping predators, yet the instinct remains. Just as the gorilla chooses a high perch for rest, we climb stairs each night, seeking a place where we feel safe, separate from the chaos of the ground level.
The Symbolism of Height
Height has long symbolized goodness, safety, and aspiration. Heaven is depicted as "up," the stars as symbols of guidance and wonder. From the canopy of the jungle to the second-floor bedroom, elevation has always carried connotations of refuge and perspective. Yet, as we ascend, whether physically or metaphorically, we may fail to question whether this instinct still holds value in our modern context.
Relics of an Outdated Instinct
While height once offered survival advantages, many of our modern preferences for elevation may be less about practicality and more about deeply ingrained instincts. The penthouse may signal success, but does it truly offer greater happiness? The upstairs bedroom may feel safer, but is it any different from ground level in today’s locked, climate-controlled homes?
As we reflect on these choices, it’s worth asking: How much of what we consider "good" or "valuable" is simply a relic of the past? In clinging to these instincts, are we limiting ourselves to outdated markers of worth or safety?
Gazing at the Stars
Yet, there is poetry in these relics. The gorilla resting on its branch and the human lying in an upstairs bedroom both look upward at the stars, seeking solace in something vast and unchanging. Perhaps, in this shared gesture, we find not just an evolutionary instinct but a universal truth: the desire to rise above the ground, to connect with the cosmos, and to feel, if only for a moment, safe in the embrace of the night.
Conclusion: Questioning the Ascent
Height has shaped our preferences and our perceptions for millennia. But as we climb stairs to our bedrooms or aspire to "reach the top," we should take a moment to reflect. Are these instincts still serving us, or are they echoes of a world that no longer exists?
Maybe the next time you walk upstairs to bed, you’ll picture that gorilla on its leafy perch, looking at the stars, feeling secure. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find a new appreciation for the ancient instincts that still guide our modern lives.