Can my ‘ignorance’ be bigger than yours, please?

I had lukewarm KFC…

…for breakfast one morning this week. Not my finest hour, health-wise.

And as I tucked into the mass-produced grease and salt (a green tea on standby for my atonement), a positively splendid idea popped into my head…

I should post a pic of me grinning wide and with a cold, fatty drumstick in hand! Yes! I could make some kind of obscure, painfully witty but deeply relatable comment about rejecting high falutin wholefoods for a fowl jacked up on steroids. Yum.

How fun, how fashionably self-deprecating, how, how…who cares.

Thankfully, I came to my senses. But. For a lost second or three I contemplated subjecting innocent by-scrollers on the Gram to a pointless image of me and my mornin’ chicken. This got me to thinking about my brain – and yours. And the rewiring we’re already neck-deep in.

We’re living in a time where it’s okay, heck, it’s even expected that we share gratuitous captures of vacuous, materialistic mayhem for people to chuckle at, judge or emulate.

Ignorance is bliss.

You’re not meant to know everything about me. Nor me, you. And we’re also not meant to know about every act of horror and even triumph unfolding on our beautiful planet as you read this Phylosophy.

I have ancestor-envy – those smartphone-free folks were… free. They only knew what was going down in their village, their tribe. And it was enough.

Life and love and stories flourished not in spite of blissful ignorance, but because of it.