Whew, I got it.
Perspective, once hard-won (or not) after years of trial and error, is now something I can gain from a quick traipse through my cyberhood.
I love that we’re all going through bullshit and writing about going through bullshit and commenting on how other people are going through bullshit and obsessively checking our email or RSS reader or IM client. That’s not a sarcastic “love”, either. It’s extremely helpful to know that none of us are as special or as unique as we think we are: that I, just like you, have really petty yet entertaining hang-ups and worries and we can all get over them eventually. (Hear that? We can.)
What drives me a little nuts is when I read posts from people that are contentless, plaintive cries for attention, scattershot pings across the blogosphere too vague for any of us to claim. It drives me a little nuts not because someone needs attention – we all do – but because no one is taking responsibility for it. The plastic bag is drifting across the highway and will it collide with a windshield, carried for a few choice moments? We’re not plastic bags; we have more say in the matter than that. We can reach out, really reach out to each other.
The film “Me and You and Everyone We Know” treats the subject of connection in an increasingly disconnected world. Awkward near-misses and pretty collisions form a quilt of realistic, humanistic love. No one here is anything other than what they are, but they are routinely mis-seen by others. Only when the characters stop looking do they truly see anything.
If I write here that I really need some support, that I’ve just experienced something excruciating and overwhelming, I have no doubt that you will read and consider and maybe even respond. But I’m telling you what I want from you; I’m handing you the script. That isn’t interacting with you authentically at all. Maybe you’re having a shitty day, a shitty week, a shitty month and you don’t want to play the Supportive Friend role right now. I shouldn’t judge you based on whether or not you comment on my blog post or “friend” me (nice verb, now) on the latest social networking site.
Speaking of those, someone said to me just a few hours ago, “I’ll know you’re dead when I hear about a Web 2.0 beta from someone else.” And I’ve become that person, that gadgety-freaky magpie hopping from new site to new site. That isn’t bad in and of itself, but I’d like to be known for something a bit more substantial, because Web 2.0 matters even less than our daily bullshit does … at least to those of us who aren’t making a ridiculous amount of money off it.
Thanks to blogging for the wake-up call. And thanks to “Cheers” for still being funny twenty years later.