As I explore low-intensity ways to help me jump-start this daily writing practice (which my post dates will tell you is going swimmingly so far), I am currently working through a free, self-paced email workshop that introduces you to the idea of web writing, how to succeed at it, tools to help you develop content, etc. Don’t get me wrong, ultimately I think it will be very helpful for me when I am able to focus on it more seriously. But I am also having a “do not cite the deep magic to me” moment. I was probably already writing online when these guys were children riding bikes around their neighborhoods. I realize that things evolve and I don’t know all there is to know about how things work these days…but isn’t there some beauty in that too? I feel like the internet is saturated with people trying to tell you what to do, how to live your life, who’s right and who’s wrong, the 10 best whatevers, the single best exercise to fix your [body part], why to blame someone else for everything that is wrong with you now.
With millions of people on the internet trying to position themselves as an expert or authority on something, aren’t we diluting the definition of the word authority? What if we don’t invite people to “join the conversation” or “smash that like button!”? What if we just authentically shared parts of our lives in an attempt to relate to others–not for the algorithm or the ‘gram?
I am not an expert in any one thing (other than myself, and even that is questionable sometimes). I am more of a generalist. Maybe this entire post is a self-serving argument for me to have a place at this table even if I am not yelling in your face about how smart I am. I have experience and knowledge in a lot of different areas, and even as I finally accept and settle into middle age I still have an insatiable desire to learn new things. In 2021 I changed my career following a period of burnout, and my husband and I moved away from a place we had both lived for 20 years. In 2022, I took up taiko drumming–something I had been wanting to try for a long time–and performed (yes, on a stage, in front of an audience) for our studio’s annual family recital. My husband even made me a practice drum that sits in our garage waiting for me to bang out a song. Last year we tried throwing pottery for the first time, and now I work one day a week with our pottery instructor (who is now a friend). This year, I am experiencing the journey of aging parents, a layoff, and–surprise!–learning more new things to keep myself relevant.
I think I am trying to understand more clearly how/when/where/why we shifted from marveling at how the internet could connect us to just trying to bilk it for every penny, like, or click that we could. Who decided that’s what it’s best used for? Can we take it back?