The Devolution of the Thumb

“Doom scrolling takes away the opposable thumb. And the hump everyone is getting in their neck from looking down is taking away our upright stance. Are we devolving?!”

The thought came to me out of nowhere — that strange flash of awareness that makes you stop mid-scroll and blink. I realized how literal and symbolic it was. Our bodies are mirroring our minds. We’re curling inward, heads bowed, thumbs twitching, eyes fixed on glowing glass. We’ve traded wonder for windows. Connection for consumption.

Our opposable thumb — the mark of human evolution, the thing that allowed us to build, to hold, to create — now mostly swipes. What once turned soil, held tools, stitched, wrote, and made art is now being trained to scroll endlessly through noise. We’ve become passive instead of participatory.

Even our posture tells the story. The neck that once lifted our gaze toward the horizon now bends downward. The shoulders that carried dreams forward now slump beneath invisible weight. The body remembers what the soul forgets: we were meant to look up.

Maybe the antidote to this slow de-evolution isn’t a grand rebellion against technology, but a small act of remembrance. Put the phone down. Lift your head. Step outside. Use your hands for something real — plant a seed, stir a pot, paint, weave, hold another hand.

Maybe reclaiming our evolution is as simple as looking up, opening our hands again, and remembering what they were made to hold.

We were made to create, not just to scroll.