Let's Try Something Different

Blogger has been good to me for many years. It's an amazing outlet and a great place to share your thoughts. That being said, I've used it for so long, the joy of updating has provided diminishing returns over the years.

So I'm going to try something else for a while. I created a site on Tumblr called Invocable Objects. It's a lot like this blog, but with more assorted content, including featured photos, short fiction, etc. I'm experimenting with it, and I'd really like it if you'd check it out.

I don't expect to abandon this blog completely. Especially for personal posts. But for now, I'm going to try something new. Thank you all for reading!

“What’s On Your Mind?” How to Contribute Thoughts That Last

I have always been told that the most intelligent people were the ones who listened intently and spoke little. And when those people did speak, they would say reasonable, well thought out things that contributed something of value to the conversation. I always wanted to be like that. To wait, analyze and contribute. 

When the Internet was a younger place, it was an escape from ordinary life. You lived, spoke, and existed in a system of anonymity. That meant you could say whatever you wanted without the risk of your real-life self getting tied to your online persona. I joined countless forums and contributed to hundreds of discussions about things I would likely never discuss with my friends in the real world. It was like therapy. I could tell that invisible subset of people I was having a bad day, and they would either make fun of me until I snapped out of it, or offer encouragement until I felt better. But it never really mattered if I complained too much or said something stupid. Those people weren’t going to see me the next day and wonder why I was such an emo kid. And even if they did, they wouldn’t know it was me sulking around in their forums.

And then social networking came along.

In came One Identity to Rule Them All. Or as Facebook’s company motto goes, “To make the world more open and connected.” Facebook wasn’t the first to try and do this, of course, but it is the only successful company to do so. First, you would join because your friends badgered you to do so. Then you’d invite more people so you could share pictures and events with them. And finally, the inevitable would happen. The site would go mainstream, and your parents, family and third cousins twice removed would join and add you as a friend. 

You are no longer anonymous. Your name and photo are plastered on a page for all to see. Ignoring peoples’ requests and hoping no one will be the wiser is a pipe dream of technology’s past. Instead, your interconnected presence means your online actions have real-world consequences. You will see those unlucky people the next day and they will feel snubbed. A world that began with anonymity and exclusivity has become just another extension of reality.

So why do we bother staying in the same social scene as our mothers?  We would never do it in real life. Why are things different online? 

Because we like being heard. 

Just like the person who never stops talking at the dinner table, or the one who raises their voice over everyone else when they think of a clever idea, we send out our thoughts because we know someone will have to listen. Our ideas no longer have to be groundbreaking, important or useful to anyone. As long as someone is on our friends list, our random ramblings will cross his or her eyes at one point or another. Potentially, they could reach as many as 500 million people. And we don’t even have to shout.

Not that this is a bad thing. Having someone listen to you makes you feel good. And we can opt out of the system if we choose, but what’s the point? Removing yourself from a vast social system is a louder statement than staying inside it. There’s a party going on without you, and everyone will wonder why you’re not there. 

The only problem is that we don’t realize how loud we’re getting. Most of the time, we’re not visiting Facebook to see what someone else is doing. We’re seeing who commented on our stuff – Who out there is caring about what I’m doing right now? It’s an instant, free booster shot to our ego; or a gut-kick of disappointment when no one comments on our carefully picked batch of photos. When it gets too loud, you can’t process what anyone else is saying. It all becomes one big cloud of meaningless jargon.

All that being said, the wise people I mentioned earlier still exist in the online world. They’re the ones who aren’t speaking just to be heard. They wait, listen and contribute to the never-ending conversation. Most likely, they’ve never left a comment that just said, “LOL!” You can pick them out of the thickening crowd, and hear what they have to say.

And so we’re left with a contradiction. Your online presence will affect you offline. But the online world is so noisy, it’s easy to go unnoticed. A recent study shows that for the most part, few people really care that much about what you’re saying. I guess the point is, if you want to get noticed in both worlds, contribute something that has meaning, and it will raise your value universally. If you’re just adding to the noise to be heard… you should probably go home and rethink your life.

Too Long, Died Reading Version: 1.) Your online world affects your real world. 2.)The Internet is noisy, and simply being louder doesn’t help anything.

Point: Play nice. Be paranoid. Stop talking. (Get off my lawn).

Hypocrisy: If I want people to read this, I have to post it on Facebook. And I will continue to tweet useless thoughts. Because I like when people think I’m funny or clever.

On Growing Up

I’ve always been told that people change when they get older. They grow up, get jobs, meet their spouses, get married, move off and have babies. Late night video game sessions and midnight trips to Waffle House slowly dwindle out of their lives until they become fantasies instead of nightly realities. Their priorities change, and they don’t relate to their friends the same way they used to.

I’ve been on the lookout for those traits in other people since I started college. I would see if my older peers were developing “the bug,” and more often than not, I couldn’t tell much of a difference. It made me feel like the whole thing was made up – a myth to make older people feel like they had finally become “grown up.”

As I quickly made my own transition into the “grown up” world, however, I started to realize that all those things are true (and more). It wasn’t a conscious change – not for me anyway. But over time, I realized that it wasn’t just the amount of time I spent with my girlfriend (and later, fiancée) that made my interactions with friends feel different, it was a total shift in my mindset. All of a sudden, I didn’t have time to stay out late anymore because I had to go to work the next morning. I couldn’t see every movie or go on every trip because I had obligations to my studies, my work, or my future spouse (or I was just plain broke). And I didn’t understand the fuss about the latest drama, because I knew it would fizzle out in a couple of weeks. I did not completely abandon these things, but they became less of an issue for me, because I was trying to build something of permanence.

One of the most difficult changes in this process was the transition from waiting for my future to appear to actively making it happen. Being unclear about my direction in life was quickly becoming an unsustainable situation. Suddenly, decisions couldn’t wait until I had a crystal clear idea of what their results would be – they just had to be made. And for better or worse, they shaped what lied ahead. Just like that, I had become what I considered grown up.

It didn’t come with an overriding sense of superiority like I feared it would. I already envy the free time and open possibilities that my friends in college have, and wonder if I used those same resources prudently enough. I don’t feel like I’m necessarily doing things the “right way.” I’m just on the path God wants me to take, and I’m feeling my way through the dark like everyone else. I didn’t get a magic hat that let me make wise, well thought out decisions 100% of the time, as much as I wanted one. I still screw up, but I try to do so less often, because it matters to more than just me now.

And the funny thing is, these seem like such perfectly obvious things that would happen during the transition from youth to adulthood. Sure, you know you’re taking a leap when you get a job or get engaged. And there were other significant events along the way. But there’s no road sign for a changing mindset.

Pomp & Circumstance

After approximately 1.5 trillion years, I am finally finished with College. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how it happened. Unlike the vast populace at Ole Miss, I did not party and drink my way through. Unlike the clubs and tribes at Mississippi College, I did not plead or social-status my way through. I just made it. I think there was hard work. I think there were late nights. I think there was a pretty girl who gave me a soft kiss and shoved me all the way through that last, hellish year. But I still don’t know how I made it. Because throughout my entire academic career, I’ve never done anything like this.

The only graduation I have ever been in was in Kindergarten. My pint-sized friends and I stood puzzled in our golden robes as camera flashes put spots in our eyes. Our memories? A Leprechaun trapped in a box [which turned out to be another box of delicious Lucky Charms on a string], dreaded naptimes and really nice ladies that told us to put our crayons back where they belonged when we were through. We were proud standing up there that day. But when they handed us our diplomas, we weren’t entirely sure what we had accomplished. We were, however, fully aware of how proud our parents looked.

This time, I imagine I will stand on a brightly lit stage fully aware of what I have accomplished. I will know that somehow, that little slip of paper represents five years of education. But just like in Kindergarten, I won’t entirely know what that means. My parents will smile and look prouder than I've ever seen them, but will only have a vague idea of the effort I put in to get there. After all the personal traumas, defeats, joys and triumphs I have experienced throughout college, I’m not entirely sure anyone will ever know but myself. If you’ve been there, you know what I mean. You remember the limits you overcame, and the long nights that seemed to never end. The dreaded final exams that stretched your mind until play-dough looked like a more solid substance. Your friendships came and went; broke and fixed; learned or lingered. Love most likely did the same. It was the second longest transitional period in your entire life. You did it with help, but only you know how much.

But in the end, I’m not sure that letting others know is that important. Unless I write my memoirs, most of what happened will be forgotten. I will place significance where there originally was none, and small things that changed my life will be left unstated and unremembered. The fact of the matter is, not even I will truly know what I have accomplished. What matters is what has changed in me. How I have overcome is secondary to how I can overcome. That’s one lesson I learned in college. I have a feeling it will be one of the hardest to remember.

On The Adventure Of Dino And Color-Shifting

Back in the fifth grade, I wrote my first story. It was about a friendly dinosaur named Dino that travelled around the world making friends with other dinosaurs. I decided to make it an expository tale about the way people (or great-big lizards) interacted with each other. Our teacher even provided the class with a blank hardbound book so we could illustrate our stories. I went at it with all the finesse my untrained 11-year-old hand could offer. Dino, a reasonable facsimile of a T-Rex, met many other reasonable facsimiles of dinosaur-like-people along his journeys, and went from red to blue to green from page to page. I can’t remember if that was a plot element, or if a sudden disinterest in dulled down crayons spurred my decision. Maybe a little bit of both. In the end, he had done a lot of cool stuff and seen a lot of neat things, but he wasn’t much different than he was when he started. I finished the book, but felt like I should have kept going, and wasn’t sure why.

At any rate, I liked what I had made, but even in a world of lunchroom drama and playground fantasies, I realized that my story could have been a lot better. My oversized coke-bottle glasses didn’t blind me from knowing that I still had room to grow (even if they did make me hide my school yearbooks). Since writing that story, I’ve done a lot of growing. I’ve written short stories that could fill those hardbound pages with words instead of doodles, and essays that are so literary, even I shouldn’t be able to understand them, but after I’ve printed out the pages, I still look back and think I could have gone farther. And by knowing that, I push harder every time. Every now and then, it shows.

I’m about to graduate from college now, and still don’t know what Dino should have learned all those years ago. Maybe his color-shifting meant he changed himself to fit in with the new people he met. The white background could have been symbolic of the fact that people are the only thing colorful in a white-washed world, or that there is potential in all things. Or maybe lazy story telling leads to plot holes and confused readers. Whatever the case, my first story still leaves me wondering. And to me, that’s the best thing that can happen when you’ve finished turning the pages.