One of the threads that weaves through Douglas Coupland's apocalyptic novel concerns blogging. (Yes, Generation A is apocalpytic in that it portrays the end of the world as we know it--and, thanks to a Prozac-like drug, we feel fine.)
Each of the main characters in Coupland's story tells his/her own stories. One character tells a story of a young man who has lost the story of his life. The implication is clear: springing from our obsession with fame, we all look for the story of our lives. Unfortunately, with nothing real left in life, we can't find one. We use our extreme sports and death-defying feats in attempts to bring fame-worthy excitement into our lives.
In the story of the young man who has lost his story, the following exchange occurs between a woman at the Learning Annex, where this young man has gone for lessons in something interesting (bungee jumping, Tae Bo), and the young man (it begins with Craig, our young man in question):
"I thought maybe Tae Bo would loan my life a unique narrative edge."
The woman--whose name was Bev--said, "Craig, the hardest things in the world are being unique and having your life be a story. In the old days, it was much easier, but our modern fame-driven culture, with its real-time 24-7 marinade of electronic information, demands a lot from modern citizens, and poses great obstacles to narrative. Truly modern citizens are both charismatic and [sic] can only respond to other people with charisma. To survive, people need to become self-branding charisma robots . . . So, in a nutshell, given the current media composition of the world, you're pretty much doomed to being uninteresting and storyless."
"But I can blog my life! I could turn it into a story that way!"
"Blogs? Sorry, but all those blogs and vlogs or whatever's out there--they just make being unique harder. The more truths you spill out, the more generic you become."
(I'd give you a page number, but Kindle doesn't list page numbers.)
To add to this evidence, I read an article in The New Yorker the other day about media, specifically in regards to Obama. This article also pointed out the (negative) consequences to this 24-7 media marinade, which disallows journalists from getting any real story. Several times, especially when quoting Obama communications administration, they referred to the narrative Obama wanted to communicate, or the narrative of Americans. Have we become so self-aware of our own story that we can no longer let it unfold naturally? What are the implications of this?
(Side note: These past weeks, we all watched the events in Haiti, blogging, twittering, perhaps watching a rescue on TV. I'm happy to see our concern for another nation, but I wonder how much is true concern and how much is it safe concern? If our sympathies are real, why not spend time on a weekly basis in homeless shelters, orphanages, and nursing homes, entering into their suffering?)
While these Neil Postman-esque prophesies unfurl around us, I don't believe this means we abandon blogs (obviously, or I'd be using this post to say Goodnight, Gracie). Ruth Haley Barton warns us against accepting technologies without evaluation. This doesn't mean we all don Amish garb. It means we better know how things affect us--our Christianity, our communities, our families, our work, our play. We can't all become Wendell Berrys. Because of blogging, I've found other writers, knitters, gardeners, poets, and photographers (as well as a slew of other artists) who have encouraged me in these endeavors. I've discovered friends who have encouraged my spirituality. If I consider creativity and spirituality (not entirely different entities, by the way) to be essential to humanity, than blogging has shaped me in positive ways.
But I also have been obsessed with finding my own niche, my own small pond in which to be famous. I've asked, how can I be unique in this space? What is my brand?
I suppose we approach this as we do everything: with mixed motives. I am neither purely good nor entirely corrupt. I am saint and sinner. Coupland's comments and The New Yorker's article remind me to always pay attention to the whats, whys, hows, and consequences, to not do things willy-nilly just because I want to. And that's a good thing.
Thoughts? Reactions? Poison?
Print between the lines: Title quote from Bones (Sealy Booth)
Heather, I think you are right on the money about all this. It's so easy to want to catalog our life instead of really living it. I struggle with this as a journaler/scrapbooker and a writer and parent.
And your paragraph about our "concern" for Haiti is very convicting and thought-provoking. Thanks so much for sharing this!
I love to read a good story. I love to write a good story. I love to be part of a good story.
I've noticed my parental tendency to sometimes want to make my children and their personal stories more like puppets or video documentaries than real living experiences. Stories scripted by me or photographed and told from just the right angle to catch the mood- as though I have it all planned out in my mind ahead of time.
That approach can really rob a parent of the pure joy and surprise of rearing kids. It can rob the children of freely embracing the dips and hills of life.
Lately I've gotten away from the storytelling and am just riding the dips and hills along with everyone else. My blog and storytelling have suffered for it. But I don't think my parenting has.
Not being a parent, I hadn't thought of that angle. It's probably even easier to do than seeing your own life as a story, since as a parent you're once removed, observing, however biasedly.
This post was truly profound. It hit me squarely where I've been living and thinking these days. Social media does make us think about our lives in "meta" form ... for instance, while having real moments in life, I've found myself thinking about how that moment would translate into a status update or blog post. It's a weird realization.
I appreciate what you're saying here on two other levels, as well. 1) If we value x or y, and social media builds x or y deeper into our lives, it can be a positive contribution to that life. And 2) we learn to use these tools well in some ways and not-so-well in other ways because we are, as you said, "saints and sinners."
Thanks for a great post, Heather.
And PS: Congrats to you and your hubby on his new job! That must be a great feeling!
We're very excited about the job! Thanks!
You know, I've talked before about the story of our lives, but seeing this here made me think if I've been making too big a deal about it. While we make choices, if we're doing so in order to make a good story, we may be making these choices with wrong motivations--for our own significance rather than for God's kingdom, in other words. I think this goes back to that beautiful ordinary we've been talking about. The beautiful ordinary may not feel particularly storied, but that's what makes up our lives. And I love that these days.
1. Move to Kentucky.
2. Buy a farm.
3. Watch Office Space to learn how to destroy technology.
4. Beat your computer, DVD Player, and TV mercilessly with baseball bats.
5. Grow Food.
6. Cut Firewood.
Your occupation is now to farm, to write, and to send letters trying to convince your friends to move to Kentucky and repeat above steps.
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