The "I" Problem

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One thing that's tough to accomplish on a personal blog is to avoid plugging myself too much, to avoid being self-centered. If most of the sentences in a post begin with "I," there's a problem. If most of the posts on a blog have that issue, well then why read the damn thing? It's something I work on, something I'm aware of, and still my results in avoiding the over-indulgent "I" aren't great, but that's just because I'm so great I can't help it. Or something like that.

This idea came up today because of something I notice at work, a division of people who can't seem to help overusing "I" and those who almost never talk about themselves even when it would be acceptable. At work, I've gotten pretty good at keeping my "I" out of it. Some of that is made easy by the nature of the work. My job involves writing grants, managing some activities, and getting things done for other people. Also, the mission of the place is to serve others (It's a cookbook!) That is, it's not all about me. Right now that means reading a draft of new by-laws sent by a lawyer for a new initiative. Earlier it meant writing a section of a grant to sound as if the person signing it was the author. An hour ago it was writing an email disappointing one person while not revealing that it was someone other than me who made the decision. That guy was not happy, but oh well.

This is good work to do, a great job to have, my name doesn't have to be on things. It's not about me but it's troubling how much people feel the need to put their stamps and signatures on things. It's like people who give millions of dollars but demand their name be on the building. What, your money doesn't give you enough attention? Sheesh.

There's some question as to whether or not leaving my name off leaves me behind. The squeaky wheel gets the grease and all, but it's better to be a wheel that turns quietly, largely unnoticed. The right people know they can depend on me. That's enough.

Still, there's the writing question: Am I am thinking and writing too much about what I am doing, what I am thinking, and trying to get people to notice me? Even in this piece, I'm referring to myself, but there's a difference between using experience as example and turning the spotlight on myself to the exclusion of everything else. Here's hoping this piece is on the right side of that.

Getting away from I is like training writers away from "you" in referring to "the reader." I have no clue who "you, the reader" might be and assumptions leads to racism, sexism, and bad writing. "You" is almost always a sign of immaturity, inexperience, or laziness, but "I" may be even more dangerous. Note the man-child in the White House if you have any doubt.

There are times and places for "I" and "you" in writing, but it's always time to be wary of them. Avoiding "you" is just good sense. Avoiding "I" is also good sense, but it's more than that, it may even be spiritual, maybe moral. Like my job, writing isn't just about me. I'm in there, but there's so much more when "I" get out of the way.

Take A Break

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Saturday afternoon I felt sure there was something I should be doing. I had vacuumed the den, thrown in a load of laundry, written Morning Pages, called my mother and brother, and gone for a run. I stood in the living room thinking I needed to be doing something, feeling myself spiraling into the beginning of becoming frantic.

Hey, wait a minute, I said.

Considering things a moment, I realized I was bored and felt guilty and lost because of it. I was inclined to go to the computer or phone and check news and email, but the news is bad and email would leave me feeling obligated to reply. I pushed against the habit of running from boredom.

But what then to do?

There were certainly things to do. Write a note to a friend, call another, finish reading my book, write a blog post, clean the bathroom. Those flashed in my mind one after another and then together, the spiral still spinning up inside me.

On the couch my cat yawned, stretched out a paw, flexed her claws, rolled into a tighter ball, and went back to sleep.

I joined her.

An hour and a half later I woke feeling rested for the first time in weeks. I got up, washed my hands, put on music, and began making eggplant parmesan for dinner. No guilt, no spiraling, no anxiety.

Earlier in the day when I felt there was something I needed to do, I was right. There was something. But rather than being "productive," I needed to rest and give myself a break.

I'll have to remind myself of that often over the next few weeks and months. Maybe you need that reminder too.

Times are tough. Be kind to yourself and get some rest.

Connections & Isolation

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I'm reading about social networks again though I'm not really on any of them. I've got a LinkedIn account I thought would be a good for business connections, but, as with any social network, it's a terrible way to connect. It has provided a few opportunities to prepare for connecting, but for real connection it's as sucky as Facebook, Twitter, and the rest, just not quite as evil. Despite not being involved with social networks, I keep thinking about them as I do about this virus. Terrible, poisonous stuff but still intriguing.

Some of what has me thinking this way is isolation. You're probably isolated too. I hope so. It's the primary tool in turning the tide of this pandemic and anyone who says otherwise is a fool duped by misinformation.

Isolation is tough. Friday our family had a video call with another family whom we miss terribly. The call was lovely, but I grew sad as it went on. Talking over video beats the hell out of not connecting, but it's a poor substitute for visiting their house, hugging each of them in turn, and absorbing their full presence. Video isn't even close. I'm grateful for it, but it amplified my longing for real intimacy.

That video call was at least a targeted, private connection. We weren't posting notes on a commercial bulletin board, weren't trying to impress others, weren't doing the things social media seems to demand. Video is a poor imitation of real connection and intimacy, but social media is way further down the line.

Writing that, I think of those who connect with far away friends and family via social media. I hear those who say they're on Facebook to see pictures and hear news of grandchildren, old coworkers, students, and so on. I get that and yet I still disagree that they are connecting much at all.

My wife explained her reasons for remaining on Facebook. She hardly ever posts. She keeps up with people with whom she might otherwise lose touch. She accepts the bad of Facebook the way I accept Google's huge failings so I can keep using Gmail. But here's the thing: I don't believe any of that really counts as keeping in touch. It's faux contact, fake connections, imitation social interaction. Worse, it hides from us the fact that we are growing more isolated through the uses of these things.

I got sad at the end of our video calls because it demonstrated how separated we are. The medium highlighted our distance and seemed to extend it. I craved real connections such as:

  • Visiting our friends' home, bringing wine and dessert, having dinner, and staying late because we don't want to leave one another's company.
  • Receiving a call out of the blue from my college roommate who lives in Texas, my wife, he, and I talking for half an hour; three friends who have known one another thirty years.
  • Having a meeting over coffee with people doing similar work, talking, making notes, shaking hands, and being on a team.
  • Stopping on a run to talk with a friend about how his kids, the job, and a concert he attended, then telling him about my job and a book I just read.
  • Attending writing group, sharing coffee and taking turns to read our pieces aloud to one another gathered around a table together.
  • Receiving a friend's poem over email, feeling moved by it, and writing back to thank her and to ask if I can share it.

Not all connection has to be in person. Some can be mediated by technology. But shouting in public is a bad way to connect. I don't broadcast conversations with my wife because I treasure my connection with her. Try having that conversation on Facebook and you'll come up empty or worse. I'm not about to try that.

She says Facebook seems like the playground of showoffs. I say Twitter is the sandbox of discord. Agreeing on that, we moved on to talking about her family and job. The sunset glowed through the window and dimmed as we talked there on the couch. I flipped the record on the turntable. The cat joined us. I felt love binding me with my wife. We felt truly connected with one another. It was absolute bliss.

How we did all that without Mark Zuckerberg's or Jack Dorsey's help, it's just such a mystery.