The Subtle Art of Sitting: A Reflection on Life, Poop, and Everything in Between

 

Hello, dear readers. I know, I know — most blogs start with sunshine, avocado toast, or some influencer pretending their morning coffee is an existential experience. Not here. Here, we deal with the raw, unpolished, and occasionally odorous truths of existence. And yes, today, it’s poop.

Some might call it taboo. I call it democratic. After all, no matter your politics, your net worth, or your TikTok followers, everyone poops. Some of us more quietly than others. Some of us with tragic dramatic flair. And some… well, some turn it into an art form.

I’ve spent decades observing the phenomenon, from the early horrors of infant bowel movements to the quiet dignity of a late-night solo toilet session at forty. It’s humbling. There’s something profoundly grounding in the act. Everything in life can go wrong — careers stall, relationships crumble, Wi-Fi dies at the exact moment you need it most — yet, somehow, poop remains. Predictable. Unyielding. And oddly poetic if you squint hard enough.

Did you know that the consistency of one’s stool is basically a biography of their recent life choices? Eat too much fiber, and you’re the kind of person who reads nutrition labels like sacred scripture. Eat nothing but microwave dinners for a week, and, well… let’s just say the world will smell your regrets. There’s a narrative there, a timeline, a tragicomic story of human existence — all compressed into a single brown log.

Some nights, I ponder the societal implications. Toilets are the great equalizers. Billionaires, paupers, politicians, and exes we despise alike — all meet in the porcelain cathedral. And yet, in our culture, we pretend it’s invisible. We sanitize, we flush, we hide. We wear cologne instead of honesty. But not here. Here, we embrace the absurdity, the mess, the unavoidable reality that, at some point today, you will make a deposit in the universal bank of humanity.

So, dear readers, I propose a new philosophy. Let’s celebrate the small, stinky victories. Let’s write poetry about the absurd shapes. Let’s honor the digestive system for the unsung hero it is. Life is chaotic, uncertain, and sometimes terrifying. But at least we get to poop. And isn’t that… comforting?

Stay tuned for next time, when we explore the hidden world of public restrooms, the tragic romance of expired wet wipes, and the existential horror of clogged pipes. Spoiler: it’s going to get messy. Literally.

— Your faithful curator of the brown arts,
Blogger, 40, slightly tired, oddly content