It just doesn't fit.

Each one of us has a Ducati resting atop our bodies. With more intelligence burried inside than any microchip could ever dream of having. And yet, millions of us are insisting on flushing that performance down the drain, as we flutter about like panicked hummingbirds, trying to gain traction in the vainglorious race for social media popularity.

Simply put, the brain is intended to process far more than 140 characters at a time.

Connect, connect, connect. Instant, instant, instant. Network, network, network. Multi-task, multi-task, multi-task.

I get it.

And I don't want it anymore.

I look at teenagers - both in the news and in families we know. I hear the stories from their parents about 3,000 texts a month. I see the blank stares in their eyes when someone brings up anything other than the latest pop culture reference.

And to be quite honest, it scares me. Not the I-went-on-a-really-big-roller-coaster kind of scary, but the I-watched-Gremlins-as-a-five-year-old-and-couldn't-sleep-for-two-weeks kind of scary.

Our computer screens are windshields. Social media content, bugs in the deep south during summer. We're careening down the information superhighway, bug guts splattering everywhere. "Did you see that one?" "Ohhhhhh! How about that one." "That one was like, flying, and then BAM! It totally didn't know what hit him. Awesome!!!"

When our vision get's too obscured, we spray the washer fluid and turn on the windshield wipers, (purge our friend list, clean out our inbox, organize tweets) then start the process all over again.

Oh, My Dear Sweet Colonel Sanders, We Have a Problem.

If we don't begin to move the momentum of the pendulum from the dumb side, back to the smart side, and like, really, really, quickly, we are going to be in deep, systemic, generational trouble.

Trouble that no politician will be able to fix. That no new technology will solve. That no new viral video or ad campaign can repair.

Because life is not about technical innovation, or tools to increase productivity. If we lose our intellectual basis all the gadgets in the world will be utterly pointless.

The seeds of this troublesome harvest are already beginning to spring up, as evidenced in The Atlantic, The Atlantic (again), and Wired - to name but a few.

Lately, I've been waking up in cold sweats (literally) at the thought of reaching my death bed, looking back, and confronting the possibility I frittered away precious time on too many, stupid, shallow things.

Sure (I think) there is a case to be made for brevity and entertainment but everyone under 30 is in dire need of depth.

Popularity now dominates every avenue of life. From Lebron, to rich Senators, to pastorpreneurs, to social media superstars, to reality TV knuckleheads - all that seems to count any more is the size of your following.

In the midst of this, I find myself developing a rabid craving for principle. For language. Learning.

So I sound a charge to put roots down and become a mental oak - able to provide pre-postmodern shade, sturdiness, logic, reason, virtue - for yourself, friends, (real life) community, and world, and not just a pretty sunflower that springs up, then quickly falls limp and withers away.

Call me naive. Call me anti-social. Call me a romantic idealist.

But one thing you can no longer call me is a twit.

(And judging by that vast, academically envied, treasure of knowledge, Urban Dictionary, I hope one by one, I'll be able to convince more of you to join me.)

In the immortal words of Edna Mode from Incredibles, "Fight! Win! Be Human!" (OK, I added those last two.)

Sincerely,

Brandon Muth