Saturday, July 22, 2017

Why I Stopped Blogging

My long time readers (and I would like to take a moment to thank all three of you, especially you, Mom) will recall that I used to be much more prolific. Nine years and 463 posts, but only four in the last year.

What happened?

I could say that I'm a lot busier, and that would be a true statement, but it would be a lie, because that's not the reason I don't write anymore. There are a lot of factors that might seem disparate, but in the end they are probably not--I think I don't write anymore because I am tired of not knowing who I am.

Take this blog, for instance--what the hell is it? Is it personal journal (a dumb reason to blog, IMHO), religious exploration, political/social analysis, comedy?  One of the problems is that it is all of those things. I've gotten slightly better at this, but when I was younger I was quite content to amuse myself, make inside jokes for an audience of one or two, be deliberately esoteric, etc. Those things are all fine to do in one's spare time--but what's the point of making these things deliberately front-facing? And I would argue that the internet is deliberately front-facing--the whole world can see it! (Sorry for the spoiler alert, for those of you still trying to get to the bottom of this whole internet thing.)

I'll be honest, as the years go on, it gets harder and harder to be a straight line professional out in the real world, but a vulnerable, opinionated, spiritual goofball online. I live in two worlds. Sometimes it's hard to keep a lid on it at work, but for the most part I'm able to keep my real self successfully tamped down between 8 and 5, M-F. I used to be worse at it, but the accretion of years have been successful at taming my soul and true nature. My true nature being the guy who just wants to prank his coworkers and practice stand-up bits on them Identity crisis. It's not working anymore to let my freak flag fly online (oh god do I hate that term). What if a future employer digs up this blog? At 25 I found that idea exhilarating--at 35 it scares me to death. I guess it's having more skin in the game, and less of an excuse for being weird.

And if a future employer did look it up, who would they find? I'm not sure. At 17 I was apolitical but got a girlfriend who made me a firebrand liberal (no questions asked, sounded good to me). That flamed out after a good two years--I got tired of waiting for the capitalistic empire to collapse, so I joined it. In a big way. Joined the Rush Limbaugh fan club and shouted down any liberal scum that got in my way--facts not required, volume and vehemence substitutes nicely. At this time I also would have told you that gays could not marry and that most of humanity would cook in hell for eternity.

Now I am unrecognizable from that person. It took an evolution of many years, but now I believe precious little of what I would have been willing to die for 13 years ago. The political game makes me want to throw up so I don't want to do the label thing, but I've definitely gone "progressive"--although I can't say that or call myself that because 22-year-old me would kill me for saying that, and he's still lurking around down there. I believe white privilege and institutional racism are some of the biggest problems in this country, that the social safety net needs to be radically strengthened, basic universal income might be a good idea; there is probably not a hell and no one goes there unless they really, really want to--and even then God will let them come on home whenever they're ready for it, AND that reading any immorality into same-sex relationships is just bad Bible interpretation. Whoa. And I'm only 35, so that's the problem--I'm genuinely afraid that I'm a rudderless fuzzy head who is doomed to be whipped about by the prevailing spirit of the age, ready to switch teams again when it makes sense to do so...

So right now I'm just not sure who I am--do I ditch the gags, the making people uncomfortable, the crazy, distant but as yet unshakable aspiration to still one day be a song and dance man, and thus fully integrate into the square world where lines are straight, conversation is pleasant and unremarkable, opinions nicely coiffed and diplomatically plotted?

Right now the square world is winning out.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

"What Have We Become?"

I feel like we are losing the thread a bit. Trump's not a cause he's a symptom. These are not original thoughts, I'm just echoing those that are paying attention. We are losing the thread, the thread of our sense and purpose. I am losing my own thread: technology is too much, I have too many choices, I have too many necessary items to consume. I can't watch my kids play because I need to curate the moment it, tag it, post it.

We're getting uglier, courser. All of us, most of us. The political bubbles, the feedback loops—we are receding from common ground and common space, going to the warm places we know—it's getting too easy not to. In the year 2000 we looked around and said, "hey, look at us, we're pretty divided." We didn't think we could get more polarized—how quaint.

This computer in my pocket ensures that my brain is kept as a scattered slop house—endlessly flitting from Hot Take to Hot Take, reading the latest on everything under the sun, taking in the point and counter point, trying to do it all justice and therefore feeling that for sure I know nothing. "Well yes, but what about what he said..."

But I've come across three pieces in the last 24 hours, and they were different. As I read them I felt this sense of being re-membered...humanity being restored. In these pieces I felt like I was reading something from the old country, the old days; not the "good old days" that never were, but maybe a time where civility fetched a higher price at the social stock market than the "thanks for nothing" it can get you today.

Once I had read the third one I knew that I was going to need to do something to preserve them. Preserve the pieces, preserve the sense of restoration, and dare I say, hope, that they provided. They all spoke with eloquence the vague strings and inklings floating around in my mind; the notions that insist that there has to be a better way. Maybe we don't want to hate each other, maybe we don't want to hand over our best hours to our devices, our Netflix, our cult classics, three complete runs through Breaking Bad, periodic viewings of the improbable 2004 ALCS.

So I share these pieces with you. I plant them in this little home, mostly as a reminder for me, but there for anyone else who would like to benefit—we are not our best selves when wrapped up in the cocoon of our technology, or in the soft bosom of like-minded confidants who are more than eager to assure you, "it's ok to hate them, we've got each other." And with each assurance that this is so, our oasis of common ground shrinks a little more.

Piece one: In the age of Trump, can Mr. Rogers help us manage our anger?

"We demonize people when we feel powerless. We demonize when we do not know what to do with our own despair. But mad, we noted, is ever a form of sad, and our channels for engaging it thoughtfully cannot be controlled by nor are they dependent upon any elected official. We can make our own moments of pause together with others whenever we like. Let’s not let the outbursts of one man dictate our emotional lives or the way we address one another. President Trump’s chaos need not be our own. We can choose what we take in. And as we have to do with anyone who would try to reduce the whole world to the size of their own fear, we can respond with thoughtfulness at every turn. We can make of our own speech, our actions and our thinking a neighborhood expression of care."

Piece two: How Late-Night Comedy Fueled the Rise of Trump

"Trump and Bee are on different sides politically, but culturally they are drinking from the same cup, one filled with the poisonous nectar of reality TV and its baseless values, which have now moved to the very center of our national discourse. Trump and Bee share a penchant for verbal cruelty and a willingness to mock the defenseless. Both consider self-restraint, once the hallmark of the admirable, to be for chumps."

Piece three: Don’t Root for Suicide

"It is very easy to crack jokes and feel superior in the wake of Hernandez’s death. I know this because I am a professional Internet heckler. But there is something deeply fucked-up about a bunch of people cheering for suicide, especially a prison suicide. Not only does it reduce human life down to a tax burden (that, again, will not be relieved), but it suggests that the worst of us can never possibly be redeemed and are better off discarded. And then where do you draw the line? How can you tell which prisoners will turn the corner and make some amends for their crimes—leaving a trace of good in the world before standing in judgment before God—and which never will? Who else passes the Suicide Test?... Because when you reduce the worst of us down to mere animals, you become a bit more of an animal yourself."