Sitting still can be a real pain
(Originally published November 2023)
When I was a kid, my mother sometimes called me “Tabitha Twitchit,” less for my resemblance to the Beatrix Potter character and more for my inability to sit still when I was bored.
I remember once sitting across from her in a booth at a Howard Johnson’s while we waited—three to four hours, by my seven-year-old judgment—for our dinners to arrive. I had the idea that I’d pass the time by working on my headstand, a real challenge given that the vinyl-upholstered bench seat was both squishy and slippery.
Mom got downright snippy about my gymnastics and made me stop, calling it “bad manners” to even attempt to balance on my head in a booth at a family restaurant.
That’s just how her generation was, I guess.
As an adult, I still have a hard time not moving. Nowadays it’s less because of my one-time squirrel-level metabolism and more because if I remain in any one position for too long, parts of my anatomy—joints, muscles, entire limbs—go stiff or start to ache.
“If you took my picture and then stamped a red ‘X’ on it, it would look just like the ‘don’t’ image in the ‘Ergonomics for Dummies’ guide.”
At the office, I have a proper chair and a monitor at the correct height. But if I don’t take a lot of breaks, I turn into a mannequin, one that appears to be wincing and clutching its hip or lumbar region.
And at home, where I primarily work, I lack a dedicated office or even desk. I bounce at intervals from the kitchen table to the back porch, to the living room, and sometimes even to the treadmill. In the colder months, I mostly park myself at the kitchen island, 18 to 24 inches from the wood stove, moving farther away when my keyboard begins to melt.
A few weeks ago, I developed a stiff neck. Maybe it was from frequently looking over my shoulder to check for the undead (I need to stop watching horror movies). Maybe it was from sleeping while wedged between the cat at the head of the bed and the dog at the foot.
But I knew the real cause: my recent tendency to work on the couch with my legs on the coffee table and my laptop on my knees. If you took my picture and then stamped a red “X” on it, it would look just like the “don’t” image in the Ergonomics for Dummies guide.
I thought of the couch as a comfortable spot. My neck and shoulders, however, disagreed, objecting to my spending day after day hunched over the computer like a vulture over a fresh carcass.
One friend, tired of my whining, suggested I sit on the floor in front of the couch, with the laptop on the coffee table.
Sitting on the floor sounded eerily bohemian, just a step away from wearing patchouli and a toe ring.
But when I tried it, I found instant relief for my neck. Sitting on the firm floor with the laptop screen at eye level lifted my chin off my sternum and opened up my chest like a set of double doors. It was the best I’d felt in weeks.
I did some research online and found a surprising amount of information about sitting on the floor to work. One site warned that it would cause irreversible spine and hip damage, and getting up and down would cripple me. A better site recommended it for good posture and a strong core and said getting up and down would increase my lifespan. (That’s why I love the internet: You get to pick the facts you like.)
I know if I sat on the floor long enough, my hips would seize up and I’d spend an hour evolving from wounded crab to upright human. But that hasn’t happened yet because so far I’ve been increasing my lifespan every 20 minutes, getting up to let the dog in or out or feed a yowling cat who then refuses whatever I serve her.
For now, the floor is my favorite place to work—provided I don’t do it for hours or let it be the only place I sit.
That shouldn’t be a problem. While I’m not quite as energetic as I once was, I’m still a bit too fidgety to remain immobile for any length of time. I’ll walk or stretch or sometimes even get that irresistible childhood urge to practice a headstand or two.
That’s fine, at least when I’m working from home. But let’s just say there’s a reason Mark doesn’t take me out to dinner too often.
