The meanings are many, from the ridiculous to the sublime; simply put, the term jarsloth was contrived to describe both my introverted and lazy nature.
There was an Onion infographic about teaching your kids to take care of pets by buying them a “jar cat,” which was basically (as you can probably guess) a cat in a jar. It was clean, hygienic, maintenance free—a sterile existence that distills all the goodness of having a living creature and drains it from the equation, leaving a cold, dead object with only the illusion of life. (Kind of the same premise of A Clockwork Orange—the irony of creating something acceptable to society, yet devoid of everything that makes something “alive.”) Growing up, I often felt I needed to conceal those quirks that made me “John” in order to make me acceptable to those around me: to fit in; to not bring undue attention upon myself. In essence, I felt the need to create a sterile personality.
I’ve always liked sloths. Even more so after reading Life of Pi, where there’s a nice sloth philosophy in the beginning of the book—it’s what I’d like to aspire to become. Not so much the laziness (though I can fall under that category), but the “coming in under the radar” aspect: you don’t have to always be on guard or defensive because you’re just there and other animals don’t perceive you as a threat (nor as a meal); you can be yourself without having to run and hide.
When I lived alone, my apartment was the container in which I felt safe and didn’t feel the need to escape—it was my jar, and I was the jarsloth. Silly, I know; confusing, yes. But it makes sense to me. Which is another reason I like it: it’s a non-sensical word that carries meaning for me.
The aim of this blog is to chronicle my foray into the world around me, using travel and food to entice the sloth out of the jar.
