How to de-evolve

In 1978, four men in mustard-yellow hazmat suits stumbled onto the music scene. With a surreal sense of humor and their logo stitched to their sleeves, DEVO was ready to rock the new-wave landscape. One problem: they were emphatically not cool. They were essentially anti-rockers, flipping everything rock ‘n’ roll stood for on its curly-maned head. They were awkward nerds who played with the sexiness of a dead eel and sang with the stiffness of a Mormon; turns out being uncool was not cool (and wouldn’t be until the fanny pack came back).  

You may be quick to call this counterculture or a gimmick, but it’s hard to deny what DEVO inadvertently revealed about these glamorous, radical rockers. By “de-evolving” rock (ha-ha), they essentially put its coke-thin body on full display for the world to see. Once you take away the booze, fashion and power chords, all you’re left with are some silly songs. And, unsurprisingly, sex and drugs aren’t as appealing when a man who needs an inhaler is mumbling about them. Yes, even when you do it, Weezer.  

I’m not digging DEVO out of the discount record bin to talk music, but because they did something extremely brave: they refused to take themselves seriously. They were silly, but humans are inherently silly creatures; unfortunately, we have all forgotten this fact. The modern era has made us horrifically tense, winding us up like toy soldiers: we march into situations with harsh, militant scowls, believing that our seriousness will be enough to secure a successful life. I worry that we’re all walking on overpriced eggshells, not wanting to relax, to lower our shoulders below our ears. “I’m fine, just fine!” we say to our peers, wishing to show off our put-togetherness, far more pristine than their put-togetherness. In equating the human experience to competition, we’ve forgotten ourselves in the process. “See you at the finish line!” we seem to say. We’ve evolved past the need for laughter, for creativity, for sincerity. We’ve evolved past being human, and we happily submit to our own misery while the world burns. Well, frankly, I think we could all do with a little de-evolution. We need to relearn humanity.   

Let’s begin with where it all went wrong: birth. I think we come out of the womb 60% human. Don’t get me wrong, we sport all the outward charm of a Homo Sapiens from minute one: screaming, needy and in desperate need of a hug. I highly doubt the obstetrician acts surprised when the thing pops out, saying, “Ma’am, you sure this one’s yours?” No, we’re all told the same thing: if it looks like a baby and cries like a baby, then it’s probably doomed to work a desk job in 25 years. Sounds logical, but how do we get there? Though nature and nurture fans have a nasty rivalry, they can at least agree that we don’t come out of the oven fully cooked. Someone misread the recipe for life and now we must babble, crawl and peekaboo our way toward 100%. Well, I’m not Freud (thank Christ), but I think the answer lies somewhere in the muddied transition from erectus to sapiens, from “me hit tiger with big rock” to “me pay renters insurance.” Since Mesopotamia, one uniting force has defined our condition, the final ingredient in the identity-casserole, which separates you from your neighbor and your neighbor from their neighbor. A hobby. 

Hobbies are as vital to the human experience as breathing, sleeping and the Chili’s Triple Dipper. Without them, our serotonin neurons would rust over, and anarchy would rule the world before lunchtime. Dramatic, maybe, but we all have something that keeps us happy, no matter how niche or legally ambiguous it may be. And, like secrets you promised to keep, hobbies are at their best when they’re shared with others. From basketball to squirrel watching, bonding over your interests keeps the gears oiled and the fire beneath your hindquarters roaring. As obvious as this may be, I fear this vital part of the human experience is being lost on a generation too anxious for a breather. We set aside our interests for “later”, but later never comes. Capitalism – which I’m sure is tired of being criticized, the poor thing – has tricked us into believing that success is now and now is forever. As such, we’ve become increasingly less confident in our own happiness, leading to passions which we rarely take ownership of. We’re like an embarrassed owner at the dog park, timidly saying, “Yup, that one’s mine” as our puppy threatens the peace. To remedy this, we keep our passions on a taut leash, always close, safeguarded from any judgment or ridicule that the world may throw our way.  

Of course, your grandparents will probably blame this on us not having a backbone. “Back in my day” is a phrase that will make anyone brace for impact, but I think our elders’ pride is getting the better of them. Congrats on starting a family at twenty, granddad, but your house was the price of a baloney sandwich. As it stands, our situation seems so dire that the idea of relaxing – of enjoying what’s meant to be enjoyed – seems like a fool’s errand. No time for bowling, man, I’ve got to get to grad school! I don’t think I can fit being human into my schedule today, check back with me tomorrow! 

I’m going to say something controversial here, and I hope I don’t lose you in the process. You’re allowed to be happy. Many believe that, because the internet allows us to see all of humanity's misery on full display, we too must be miserable. We must barricade ourselves in a dimly lit shack, post infographics on social media and wallow. The unfortunate part of this is that you’ve already played right into the system’s hands. It’s always important to stay informed, but when the world is sitting in your pocket, you’re bound to become overwhelmed. And, when we try to carry said world on our shoulders, we freeze. We’re like Altus if he had an anxiety disorder and knew what Bluetooth was. In such a weakened state, the world has easily fooled you into believing that happiness, the one thing left in your control, has been permanently stripped away from you. 

The truth – which I am going to bash over your skull if I must – is that joy is rebellion. It is a power which cannot be destroyed, mangled or harvested by any higher power. In an era that profits on our helplessness, we must remember not to submit, but to dance in the destruction surrounding us. With confidence, we must hang up our armor of self-seriousness, exposing the carefully built happiness we all carry beneath. We must stretch our arms wide, loosening our grip so that our passions may wander into every loud, crowded room they can find. Is it silly to act in this way? Yes! We should revel in that fact! We are silly, silly creatures! It is brave to be silly, and it is brave to be human, especially when you’re staring at a world that is itching to clobber you over the head with a nine-iron. Being human full-time is a raw deal, but it is an admirable endeavor. And, as I walk through the park and see a woman kick her feet in the air, laid out and laughing on a picnic blanket or see a man smiling brightly to passing strangers, I can’t help but wonder if they are the bravest of us all.