It has come to my attention that, apparently, I’m very much like a big dog. I need to be exercised; a lot. Not just walked around the block so I can take a poop, but I need to be worn out, so I don’t develop obsessive behavior that even Cesar Milan would hesitate to try and fix.
This thought of course occurs to me as I run wildly down the hill I live on, my run starting in a cloud of anxiety that dissipates the longer I run. If I feel it creeping back in, I know I’m not working hard enough, as if each labored breath is setting free some worry.
We are biological machinery in the same way dogs are, so it stands to reason that some of our basic functions might operate under similar principles (mine certainly do). A dog who isn’t active will obsessively bark, or eat, or bite, but if it’s physically worn out it becomes a pleasant companion.
I know my needs as a human are far more complex, my social acceptance depends on more factors than just the smell of my butt, but why not try and make the “why” less complicated and go do the thing you know works?