I recently encountered an article on Nature.com authored by Tyler VanderWeele and Byron Johnson, in which they proposed a more intricate framework for evaluating human flourishing. Their thesis, though commendably ambitious, suggests that a meaningful comprehension of well-being must extend beyond the rudimentary confines of economic metrics, encompassing less quantifiable dimensions such as emotional health, interpersonal bonds, existential purpose, and subjective contentment.
It’s an idea not without merit, unless you’re inclined to view life as a mere collection of biological impulses responding to environmental stimuli. And, as it happens (and you might have guessed), I’m something of a devotee to flexibility. Not just in the physical sense, though that too offers revealing analogy, but in the broader context of adaptive capacity.
Consider the human body as a system prized for its capacity to change shape, stretch, and recover, which are traits curiously mirrored in the psyche of those deemed to be ‘flourishing.’ Just as supple musculature allows you to traverse your environment with ease and reduced injury, a supple mind, one with resilience, coherence, and intent, is better suited to navigate the oscillations of life.
To assess such flourishing, however, requires nuance. We don’t measure flexibility by glancing at a limb; we must consider joint articulation, muscular tension, and neural control. So too with well-being, a concept far more elaborate than economists would have us believe. We must probe for emotional equilibrium, communal ties, existential clarity, and a perception of safety. These all might seem ephemeral, but they are consequential.
The authors’ call for multidimensional assessment is, therefore, rational and necessary. Targeted intervention, whether societal or physiological, demands diagnosis. A community deprived of social infrastructure is not unlike a body constrained by shortened tendons: both are limited in their potential, and both can be remedied, if you have the will.
Regrettably, the modern fitness space, in its pursuit of measurable strength, has relegated flexibility to a secondary concern, a trend often championed by those whose own bodily limitations betray them. Their criticisms, wrapped in the veneer of scientific dissent, frequently mask a deeper discomfort: the human tendency to diminish what we cannot attain.
Indeed, some assert that resistance training alone suffices to enhance flexibility. It’s a convenient oversimplification. Such claims disregard the distinct physiological and neurological adaptations elicited by dedicated flexibility practice, which serve performance, longevity, and preservation.
The debate, as with most things human, has grown polarised, an unfortunate by-product of ego hiding behind a veneer of faux expertise. But if we value evidence over opinion, clarity emerges. Flexibility remains a foundational element of health. And like all foundations, when neglected, the structure above inevitably falters