The Future is Amish

You ever think about the Amish? I mean, really think about them? There they are, living among us, like they’re from another time, another world even. But the more I think about it, the more I start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, they’ve got it all figured out. Yeah, that’s right. While we’re all glued to our screens, obsessing over the latest tweet, or binge-watching some show that we’ll forget about in a week, the Amish are out there, being… well, Amish.

Now, I’m not saying we should all throw out our smartphones and start raising barns. I mean, I can barely put together an IKEA shelf without wanting to cry. But hear me out. The Amish, with their mental health, sturdiness, conservatism, and activity, might just be onto something. They’ve got communities and attention spans longer than the five seconds it took for you to get bored of this sentence.

While we’re drowning in distractions like social media, ball games, and whatever reality show is manufacturing drama this week, the Amish are focused on productive behavior. They’re not tweeting; they’re tilling. They’re not posting; they’re plowing. It’s a lifestyle that’s about as far from our digital madness as you can get without actually leaving the planet.

And technology? They use just enough to get by, which means they can rebuild any of it in case of catastrophic failure. That’s right. While the rest of us are panicking because the Wi-Fi’s down, the Amish are calmly going about their business, unaffected by the digital apocalypse. It’s like they’re living in a perpetual state of tech support self-reliance. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” “No, Jedediah, because we never turned it on in the first place.”

But here’s the kicker: they know how to farm. I mean, really farm. Not like, “Oh, I grew a tomato on my windowsill and now I’m basically a farmer,” but actual farming. In a world where the rest of us are one supply chain hiccup away from eating canned beans for dinner, the Amish are out there producing their own food. It’s like they’re living in a post-apocalyptic utopia where the apocalypse never actually happened.

So, as we’re all sitting around, wondering why we feel so disconnected in a world that’s more connected than ever, maybe we should take a page out of the Amish playbook. No, I’m not saying we should all start churning our own butter—although, if you’re into that sort of thing, more power to you. What I’m saying is, maybe there’s something to this idea of focusing on what really matters. Community, self-reliance, a connection to the land, and, most importantly, knowing how to exist in the world without needing a screen to tell us how.

In a way, the Amish might just be the future of society. A future where we remember how to be human again, how to talk to each other without emojis, and how to appreciate the simple things. Like a well-built barn, or the satisfaction of a hard day’s work, or the joy of being part of a community where everyone knows your name, and not just your username.

The Amish, with their horse-drawn buggies and penchant for barn raisings, might just be the visionaries of our time. While the rest of us have been racing towards the future like a dog chasing a car, the Amish have been content to amble along at the pace of a leisurely Sunday stroll. And maybe, just maybe, they’re onto something.

You see, while most of us have been seduced by the siren song of convenience, trading in our skills and knowledge for apps and gadgets that do everything short of breathing for us, the Amish have been sticking to the old ways. And I’m not just talking about refusing to wear zippers. No, they’ve been carefully preserving the kind of knowledge and skills that have been passed down from generation to generation, the kind of know-how that’s about as common in the modern world as a payphone.

The modern person, bless their heart, knows so much less about life and how to live it than their predecessors. It’s like we’ve collectively decided that knowing how to survive without Wi-Fi is an unnecessary skill. Worse yet, we’re not even curious about the world around us unless it’s filtered through a screen. We’ve become like dumb animals, blissfully unaware of our own dependence on a system that’s about as stable as a house of cards in a wind tunnel.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch – or should I say, the farm – the Amish are living in a way that ensures they’re not beholden to anyone or anything they can’t fix with their own two hands. Skeptical of technology? You bet. But it’s not just skepticism for skepticism’s sake. It’s a rigorous commitment to ensuring that they never become so dependent on modern conveniences that they can’t function without them.

While the rest of us are busy turning into dull, distracted zombies, incapable of a critical thought about our increasingly precarious situation, the Amish are hard at work. They’re expanding upon their successes, building communities that are not just sustainable, but downright resilient. They’re guaranteeing themselves a future that’s not just functional, but highly functional, while the rest of us are left wondering why our smartphones seem to be getting smarter than we are.

And here’s the kicker, folks: while we’re all busy distracting ourselves to death, the Amish are quietly positioning themselves to inherit the earth. It’s like that old tortoise and hare story, except the tortoise is wearing a straw hat and the hare is too busy checking his X feed to notice he’s lost the race.

Let’s all take a moment to hail the Amish, those unlikely prophets of progress, for figuring out the one thing that seems to have eluded the rest of us: how to avoid ruin. While we’ve been obsessing over the latest trends and gadgets, they’ve been mastering the art of living. And in the end, when the lights go out and the Wi-Fi dies, it won’t be the ones with the latest iPhone who survive; it’ll be those who know how to build a barn, plant a field, and live a life that’s rich in everything but distractions.

So, here’s to the Amish, the unexpected champions of civilization. May their buggies roll long and their barns always be raised. Because in a world gone mad with technology, they might just be the last ones standing, having retained their sanity and avoided self-destruction.

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