I’m doing this a lot lately: furiously typing out a response on text message or email or social media and then . . . deleting it all. It’s intentional, I think. Like I’m trying to slow things down, leave more time for thinking. So much emphasis rests on responsiveness, on speaking up, on participating–and that makes sense in some scenarios–but perhaps in all that I’ve lost the appreciation for nuance–the difference between words that contribute and words that clutter. I’m basically filling my world up with streams of consciousness like a hoarder crams possessions into their home, in desperate need of an edit.
I find myself asking this question before I respond or share lately: to what end? What am I accomplishing in sharing whatever it is I’m sharing? (Obviously you’ll find texts to my spouse in the exclusion clause.)
Perhaps I’m stumbling across my own version of silent meditation, which focuses on accepting and responding rather than reacting. Or maybe I’m applying some sort of Scandinavian minimalism to communication. Either way, I feel calmer in pausing and thinking, and at times not saying anything at all. This is actually an incredibly challenging undertaking in a culture where everything is, or at the very least feels, like it’s of critical importance or the precipice of a metamorphosis that we’re either for or against. It’s always All. Hands. On. Deck. (That’s what my latest political spam mail says, anyway.)
My goal isn’t to censor or relax into apathy, but to be more thoughtful and discerning, less reactive. (It is important not to leave communication only to the very vocal poles of an issue.) The Supreme Court has long offered more speech as the solution to controversial or offensive speech. In theory, this makes sense to me. But we have so much speech these days. Too much speech, one might argue. How to sort through it all? And the pace. The pace at which all these ideas and controversies traverse our society is mind-boggling. Also, that thing called the algorithm feeds you more and more of what you crave, and not the “counterspeech” you might need. Maybe they said the same thing about the Gutenberg Printing Press back in the day.
For now, I’ll act as my own personal algorithm. I’ll work harder to pull various sources on a topic, ever cognizant of the traps of echo chambers and self-righteousness. And I’ll slow the spicket when I need more time to process.
I’ll respond when I’m ready. That’s the best I can do, I think.
Here I am railing against all this excessive speech as I type out several hundred words on the topic. Next newsletter, look for tips on practicing what you preach.
Hope you all are well, friends!
[books]
Finished the last half of Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin
I Have Some Questions for You by Rebecca Makkai
My Salinger Year by Joanna Rakoff
Best of Friends by Kamila Shamsie
[things that caught my eye]
Sleepovers: apparently these, too, stir controversy. There’s a case for them, the case against, and somewhere in between. We recently hosted one, and I kind of get it now.
I can’t read The New Yorker, it seems, no matter how many issues show up at my door, but I’ve started listening to its The Political Scene Podcast whenever I have a kid-free moment in the car. (Although I listened with my ten-year-old yesterday, which sparked an interesting discussion about constitutional interpretation.) I love how it’s digestible but not overly simplified. I’m walking away from episodes thinking about things rather than pocketing a neat, easy conclusion.