Substance in a sea of sound-bites
What a manic little hobby this blogging business is. I say "business" because everybody, it seems, is trying to "monetize" it. It's understandable, of course. Not making any money at internet activities was (part of) what brought us all down around 2000-2001, and nobody wants to go throught *that* again. And so, we blog. Manically. Frantically.
As though our lives depended upon it, which of course we partly think they do. If we can't get out there and make our "internet properties" economically viable, we'll have to stop. We'll have to quit. And we'll have to go back to regular jobs with regular bosses and regular schedules. That's the kiss of death for our creative inclinations. And a lot of us have creative inclinations that won't be denied. Not for long.
So, we blog. Making sure that our news is current, our insights are prescient, and we're always fresh-fresh-fresh.
Because people might not come back to read what we have to say. They might get bored with us and change the channel.
They might just find something better to do with themselves, than read our blogs on a regular basis.
And we don't want that.
At least, most folks don't. As for me -- blasphemer(!) always -- I challenge the notion that people shouldn't have anything better to do, than read blogs. There was a spate of controversy for a while there, 'round about the fall of 2005, when independent research was showing that people were "wasting" x-number of hours each workday, reading blogs.
And I could feel a tremor of control issues run through the veins of the masters of our universe, the employers of our world. From what I heard, employers started blocking blogs with their firewalls, and folks got seriously up-in-arms about the "waste" of work time spent reading frivolous analysis and insight.
Okay, so I have to say in bloggers' defense, that not all blogs are claptrap drivel that's written to distract, as much as it's read to pass the time. Some are the result of a lot of insight and introspection and expertise in a given field. Far be it from me, who keeps a cluster of blogs of my own, to write off the medium as a frivolous waste of supposedly productive time.
But I also have to wonder, if people are that into reading blogs, why aren't they more interested in doing other things? If people would rather read some folks' retrospective on their lost weekend in Reno, what does that say about the other options they have for using their time?
And if most blog reading goes on in the workplace, what does that say about the type and nature of the work people do?
I mean, seriously, given a choice between meaningful work that engages and educates and enlightens me, and some pundit's missive about the current socio-political climate, I'll take the work anyday. But maybe that's just me. It wouldn't be the first time, I parted ways with the mainstream.
Personally, I blame cubicles for all that blog reading. I mean, seriously. Oatmeal-colored, fabric-lined, three-straight-lines-around you cubicles that are closer akin to veal pens, than workspaces. A workspace is a place where you can spread out and let the spirit move you to productive contribution to the world in which you live.
Cubicles are holding places for people who are either too fearful or too challenged when it comes to self-discipline and time-management, to find something more meaningful (and less "safe") to do with their lives. It's an awful, terrible, horrific thing, the modern cubicle. A pox upon our land, and a blight upon our souls. But that's the best that a lot of folks think they can expect from work, these days. And if the paycheck is right, people can put up with about anything... even an oatmeal-colored, fabric-covered box with standard issue desk and phone and computer and file drawer.
You can probably tell, I've been out of cubicle land for a little while. It's true. I'm taking the first two months of 2006 to sit out the rat-race. I've recently decided that hauling my ass into a little box that belongs to someone else and won't afford me the freedom to move about and do as I see fit, all the livelong day, is something I'd just as soon not do, so long as I can. I've got a book to edit, I've got a book to publish. I've got things to think about and a life to consider. Spending my days doing other people's bidding, even if it is for a tasty paycheck, is just not where my head is at, these days.
I need to finish "Fuel".
I've been wondering why I haven't been more actively engaged in its editing and finishing, since I first wrote it. I mean, it was a very eventful time, and it was a time that really changed my life in some very subtle but noticeable ways. Plus, it was in another country, and if there's one thing I love doing, it's thinking about travel in another country.
So, why the delay? Why the hesitation?
I think it's *because* the material contains the seeds of my life's transformation. And I wasn't ready to be transformed, till now. I mean, think about it - how depresssing is it, to look your demons in the eye, know what you have to do, to combat them and banish them forever from your life... all the while knowing that if you do anything that radical, everything you're planning to do with your life, which depends on the status quo, will quickly escape your grasp? I couldn't transform myself, just then. I needed to keep that draining job. I needed to stay locked into the system. I needed to stay at that wretched job long enough to buy my house, pay off my debts, and get myself into good shape to really move forward.
When I wrote "Fuel" the first time, there was no way on earth, I could afford to do what I needed to do -- step away from the interminable, depleting, burn-out grind and find work that fed my soul, not just my pocketbook. No bank would have approved of me saying, "Oh, I don't have quite enough money to pay my mortgage each month! I'm busy fulfilling my heart's desires!" And what mortgage company would have floated me hundreds of thousands of dollars, to purchase my home, had my main financial prospects been work that had the main purpose of enlarging my soul, not raking in the dough?
It's a sick and sinful world we live in, and the first sinful sickness sets in when you mortgage your life for the sake of meeting your financial obligations. But the sickness doesn't have to become chronic. The making ends meet can be a means to an end, not an end in itself. Most people don't realize that, though. They believe the bankers. And they believe those flyers they get with all their other junk mail, that tell them a second mortgage (oh, sorry -- a "home equity loan" -- that sounds much nicer than a "second mortgage") will help them wipe out all their debt in one fell swoop. A pox upon those who mail out all those flyers in the first place, to people who have more sophstication about their child's soccer game, than their financial wherewithall. When they get hold of you and convince you that increased debt to them is a very good thing, then the original sin of abandoning your soul for the sake of a fistful of dollars, sets for good. And you're fast-tracking to Gomorrah.
But that doesn't have to be the final word on the life you lead. It doesn't have to be the final anything. Mortgaging your soul for the sake of material comfort is a fine line to walk, but it can be walked. And it must be walked with a clear sense of what's true in the world, and what's not. You've got to walk that line with the full knowledge that what you're doing with your life is not ultimately what you ALWAYS want to be doing, and it's a means to an end. The minute you start thinking that it's an end in itself-- the daily shuffle into the veal pen... hooking up to the milker in your own corporate stansion -- and you become invested in it as a part of who and what you are... your goose is cooked.
At least, it is, if you're a creative sort like me and so many of my other friends from That Place I Used To Work.
Back in 1997, we all had other things we wanted to be doing with our lives, than sitting at a computer all day, typing in code, and making phone calls to people we needed to connect with and answer to. We were artists, we were writers, we were musicians, we were made scientists. We were a whole lot of things you'd never expect a bunch of corporate types to be. And we plied our trade in wary co-existence with the sorts of people you would expect a bunch of corporate types to be.
All that changed, of course, as we proved we were good at what we did, and we proved that our work had worth in the world. When the "other" bunch of people got wind that what we made and put in place could make money, everything started to change.
I hung in there. Of course I hung in there. It's well nigh impossible to just abandon something you've created that you love like your own child. But we were surrogate mothers, we bunch of web developers. Ultimately, our creation was the sole property of our employer.
And so it goes. How sad and tragic. Soon, the prima donna will be emerging from backstage to sing her final aria and succumb to consumption in a roar of applause.
But I'm not that prima donna. And I'm not in that world, anymore. I'm writing a book about that world, editing and polishing and making sure it reflects my current understanding of How Things Are, which is a bit different from my outlook in 2000.
I've learned a thing or two, since then. And I don't have to hie myself to a cubicle today.
As though our lives depended upon it, which of course we partly think they do. If we can't get out there and make our "internet properties" economically viable, we'll have to stop. We'll have to quit. And we'll have to go back to regular jobs with regular bosses and regular schedules. That's the kiss of death for our creative inclinations. And a lot of us have creative inclinations that won't be denied. Not for long.
So, we blog. Making sure that our news is current, our insights are prescient, and we're always fresh-fresh-fresh.
Because people might not come back to read what we have to say. They might get bored with us and change the channel.
They might just find something better to do with themselves, than read our blogs on a regular basis.
And we don't want that.
At least, most folks don't. As for me -- blasphemer(!) always -- I challenge the notion that people shouldn't have anything better to do, than read blogs. There was a spate of controversy for a while there, 'round about the fall of 2005, when independent research was showing that people were "wasting" x-number of hours each workday, reading blogs.
And I could feel a tremor of control issues run through the veins of the masters of our universe, the employers of our world. From what I heard, employers started blocking blogs with their firewalls, and folks got seriously up-in-arms about the "waste" of work time spent reading frivolous analysis and insight.
Okay, so I have to say in bloggers' defense, that not all blogs are claptrap drivel that's written to distract, as much as it's read to pass the time. Some are the result of a lot of insight and introspection and expertise in a given field. Far be it from me, who keeps a cluster of blogs of my own, to write off the medium as a frivolous waste of supposedly productive time.
But I also have to wonder, if people are that into reading blogs, why aren't they more interested in doing other things? If people would rather read some folks' retrospective on their lost weekend in Reno, what does that say about the other options they have for using their time?
And if most blog reading goes on in the workplace, what does that say about the type and nature of the work people do?
I mean, seriously, given a choice between meaningful work that engages and educates and enlightens me, and some pundit's missive about the current socio-political climate, I'll take the work anyday. But maybe that's just me. It wouldn't be the first time, I parted ways with the mainstream.
Personally, I blame cubicles for all that blog reading. I mean, seriously. Oatmeal-colored, fabric-lined, three-straight-lines-around you cubicles that are closer akin to veal pens, than workspaces. A workspace is a place where you can spread out and let the spirit move you to productive contribution to the world in which you live.
Cubicles are holding places for people who are either too fearful or too challenged when it comes to self-discipline and time-management, to find something more meaningful (and less "safe") to do with their lives. It's an awful, terrible, horrific thing, the modern cubicle. A pox upon our land, and a blight upon our souls. But that's the best that a lot of folks think they can expect from work, these days. And if the paycheck is right, people can put up with about anything... even an oatmeal-colored, fabric-covered box with standard issue desk and phone and computer and file drawer.
You can probably tell, I've been out of cubicle land for a little while. It's true. I'm taking the first two months of 2006 to sit out the rat-race. I've recently decided that hauling my ass into a little box that belongs to someone else and won't afford me the freedom to move about and do as I see fit, all the livelong day, is something I'd just as soon not do, so long as I can. I've got a book to edit, I've got a book to publish. I've got things to think about and a life to consider. Spending my days doing other people's bidding, even if it is for a tasty paycheck, is just not where my head is at, these days.
I need to finish "Fuel".
I've been wondering why I haven't been more actively engaged in its editing and finishing, since I first wrote it. I mean, it was a very eventful time, and it was a time that really changed my life in some very subtle but noticeable ways. Plus, it was in another country, and if there's one thing I love doing, it's thinking about travel in another country.
So, why the delay? Why the hesitation?
I think it's *because* the material contains the seeds of my life's transformation. And I wasn't ready to be transformed, till now. I mean, think about it - how depresssing is it, to look your demons in the eye, know what you have to do, to combat them and banish them forever from your life... all the while knowing that if you do anything that radical, everything you're planning to do with your life, which depends on the status quo, will quickly escape your grasp? I couldn't transform myself, just then. I needed to keep that draining job. I needed to stay locked into the system. I needed to stay at that wretched job long enough to buy my house, pay off my debts, and get myself into good shape to really move forward.
When I wrote "Fuel" the first time, there was no way on earth, I could afford to do what I needed to do -- step away from the interminable, depleting, burn-out grind and find work that fed my soul, not just my pocketbook. No bank would have approved of me saying, "Oh, I don't have quite enough money to pay my mortgage each month! I'm busy fulfilling my heart's desires!" And what mortgage company would have floated me hundreds of thousands of dollars, to purchase my home, had my main financial prospects been work that had the main purpose of enlarging my soul, not raking in the dough?
It's a sick and sinful world we live in, and the first sinful sickness sets in when you mortgage your life for the sake of meeting your financial obligations. But the sickness doesn't have to become chronic. The making ends meet can be a means to an end, not an end in itself. Most people don't realize that, though. They believe the bankers. And they believe those flyers they get with all their other junk mail, that tell them a second mortgage (oh, sorry -- a "home equity loan" -- that sounds much nicer than a "second mortgage") will help them wipe out all their debt in one fell swoop. A pox upon those who mail out all those flyers in the first place, to people who have more sophstication about their child's soccer game, than their financial wherewithall. When they get hold of you and convince you that increased debt to them is a very good thing, then the original sin of abandoning your soul for the sake of a fistful of dollars, sets for good. And you're fast-tracking to Gomorrah.
But that doesn't have to be the final word on the life you lead. It doesn't have to be the final anything. Mortgaging your soul for the sake of material comfort is a fine line to walk, but it can be walked. And it must be walked with a clear sense of what's true in the world, and what's not. You've got to walk that line with the full knowledge that what you're doing with your life is not ultimately what you ALWAYS want to be doing, and it's a means to an end. The minute you start thinking that it's an end in itself-- the daily shuffle into the veal pen... hooking up to the milker in your own corporate stansion -- and you become invested in it as a part of who and what you are... your goose is cooked.
At least, it is, if you're a creative sort like me and so many of my other friends from That Place I Used To Work.
Back in 1997, we all had other things we wanted to be doing with our lives, than sitting at a computer all day, typing in code, and making phone calls to people we needed to connect with and answer to. We were artists, we were writers, we were musicians, we were made scientists. We were a whole lot of things you'd never expect a bunch of corporate types to be. And we plied our trade in wary co-existence with the sorts of people you would expect a bunch of corporate types to be.
All that changed, of course, as we proved we were good at what we did, and we proved that our work had worth in the world. When the "other" bunch of people got wind that what we made and put in place could make money, everything started to change.
I hung in there. Of course I hung in there. It's well nigh impossible to just abandon something you've created that you love like your own child. But we were surrogate mothers, we bunch of web developers. Ultimately, our creation was the sole property of our employer.
And so it goes.
But I'm not that prima donna. And I'm not in that world, anymore. I'm writing a book about that world, editing and polishing and making sure it reflects my current understanding of How Things Are, which is a bit different from my outlook in 2000.
I've learned a thing or two, since then. And I don't have to hie myself to a cubicle today.
posted by Kay Stoner at 6:41 AM
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