Month: July 2019

I honestly don’t miss social media. I don’t miss putting so much of myself online for others to view.

(Said the woman who is currently blogging… BUT, blogging is somehow different, just as writing a book and publishing it is different. A practical and non-inconsequential difference is that there are no “Like” buttons that come with selling a book. I’m not there with readers, looking to see whether or not they’ll give me a heart emoji at the end of each chapter. The book belongs to them, and if they read it, they’ll make it into their own story. They will complete the journey for themselves, and I am no longer part of that journey. Similarly, there are no “Likes” or what-have-you with my blog posts. Yes, I have a comment option for each post, but whether someone comments or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing, and the blog is my own space. I’m not fighting for attention or popularity the way I am on social media. Frankly, the feeling I get when I use something like Twitter or Goodreads is the same feeling of insecurity I used to get in middle school when I struggled to be popular. It’s not a feeling I’m keen on reliving. And yet, I bought into the lie that I needed to be involved with these platforms. I bought into the seduction that somehow, some way, Twitter would help me as an author, that Goodreads would result in good connections, good friends. But all I ever experienced was anxiety, inadequacy, and the gnawing feeling that I wasn’t popular enough. Being free of all that? Liberating. Now I keep track of my books in my writer’s notebook. No one but my husband and my real-life friends know what books I’m reading. I love it. I love being anonymous. I love sharing myself through my writing, but in a place and in a way that is mine, that allows me to simple BE, to not worry about my “numbers” or my “platform” or my “brand.” All of those things make me shiver. Good riddance.)

All of this social media shedding that I’ve been doing is a result of having read Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism, and putting into practice his “digital de-clutter.” I did the de-clutter during Lent (which is technically longer than the 30 days Newport recommends, but if I could do it for 30 days, what’s ten days more?). On Fat Tuesday, I removed all my social media apps, my podcast app, my email app, and moved the Google search bar off the main page and into the recesses of the “Settings–>Apps” screen (which, if I wanted to access it, required me to do some extra clicking and searching before I could find it). The only thing remaining on my phone’s main screen was the text messaging app, the calendar app, my Fertility Awareness app (being digitally minimal does not mean I’m going to suddenly start baby-making any time soon, so the fertility awareness app — aka, my birth control method — ain’t goin’ nowhere!), my alarm app, and my camera/photo gallery apps. Also the calculator app, because that’s just handy. My smartphone suddenly became almost-dumb. My rule for text messaging was that I was only going to check three times: morning, right after work, and before bed. This way my mom or whoever could still communicate information via text, but I wasn’t going to be picking up my phone every time a notification buzzed in. I told people that if they wanted to reach me right away they could call me. I actually started calling friends and family on the phone again, chatting with them for a few minutes and checking in with their lives. It was kinda awesome.

I basically stopped looking at my phone other than the few times I needed to check my texts. Over the course of those forty days, I often forgot where my phone was. It was just lying around somewhere: on the kitchen table, on a bookshelf, in my bedroom, in the kitchen. I didn’t care. If someone needed me, I’d hear the phone ring. Otherwise, it was of no consequence to me.

To fill my time, I read books. Lots of books. And I kept track of them in my writer’s notebook, not on Goodreads. I listened to music (part of the digital de-clutter meant that I had to give up Hulu and Netflix). I wrote in my notebook a lot. I practiced my guitar. I read adventure modules for DCC and planned out my group’s ongoing campaign. I wrote some of my novel (a.k.a.: the second book of the Merlin trilogy, a.k.a.: the book that never seems to be finished). I rediscovered just how much I love to read. I freaking LOVE to read. Not online articles, or websites, or headlines, but BOOKS. Glorious, paper-y, thick-bound books!

Once Lent ended, and I could *technically* start using the Internet again, I found myself uninterested in plugging back in. I haven’t looked at Twitter in MONTHS. Facebook never held any allure for me, but I haven’t even paid it a passing glance since going “digitally minimal.” Even sites like Goodreads and Reddit — sites that I thought I liked — have turned out to be, in reality, kinda dull. I’m not tempted to go back. Keeping track of my books in my pen-and-paper notebook, talking about them with my husband and friends, being suddenly a “private” reader — all of this has given me immense pleasure and satisfaction.

I’m not proclaiming all this in order to win accolades or put myself above others. I’m not special; I’m not better than anybody. I don’t think people who use social media are somehow lesser. But for my own part, I’m glad I’ve unplugged from Twitter and the rest. I’m glad that I only use my phone for making calls and sending the occasional text. I’m glad that I spend my time reading books and not internet news feeds. I’m a happier person — less anxious, less envious — and if it’s not too grandiose to say, I’m living a better life without all the digital clutter.

I’ll also say that the actual book that led me to de-clutter, Digital Minimalism, is not a perfect book. I think it’s too focused on productivity, too blinded toward the realities of lower income people, caregivers, and people who don’t have the same support system as Newport. So it’s not a book without some serious flaws. However, in general, its prescription for a digitally minimalist lifestyle has worked for me. For many people, their internet usage gives them satisfaction and pleasure; or at the very least, it’s value-neutral. But for me, it was kinda making me miserable. I’ve said goodbye to all that, and I’m glad of it.

Following up from my previous post, I happened to see this on Austin Kleon’s blog:

“No input, no output”

This is exactly what’s been happening with me and my fiction. I haven’t had enough “input” — whether from other fiction, movies, music, life, poetry, walks outside, whatever. It’s nice to see my theory about how ideas dry up meet some support from Kleon and the various artists he quotes. My problem right now is that I have nothing to share with the world because I haven’t been taking in enough stuff, ruminating on other people’s ideas, and diffusing all of that through my own imagination. I have no creative energy because I haven’t been feeding my creative mind.

I think for me, input is most nourishing when it’s both contemplative and active, meaning time for reading/watching/listening but also time for going outside and taking walks. I’ve been ruminating on the subject of walking lately, and I think one of the biggest changes that has happened since getting married, moving into our current house, and having kids, is that I hardly ever take solitary walks anymore. I go for walks with my husband and our kids — wonderful walks that I treasure — but I don’t take long rambles by myself where I look at the trees and come up with ideas. I used to ramble a lot when I was in my teens and twenties. I was never a hardcore hiker or anything; I just walked through shady subdivisions and quiet streets. But those shady lanes were formative for my creative ideas and imagination. I do think that my lack of solitary walking time has led to a lack of input.

But maybe it’s not the walking so much as it is the quiet time outside by myself. That is something I can do regardless of my state in life. If I wanted to, I could go outside right now while the kids are napping and sit on the deck. I could very easily go outside and hang out for a minute or two any day I choose. The question is: why don’t I? Does it seem like a waste of time? Does it seem indulgent? I do think I’ve been overcome lately by a “productivity mindset” that says every moment must be productive and useful (especially when the kids are napping). If I’m just sitting around outside, then I’m not DOING anything.

But what about doing nothing? Is there value to that? I would say that contemplative time is good; we need moments of rest, to contemplate and let our minds wander. But I’ve been caught in the web of “productivity” for so long now that I’ve forgotten how good it is to simply sit around and think. Sure, I’m thinking while I do the dishes (or whatever), but I’m still doing something; I’m maximizing my time. Bleh.

What I need to rediscover is the ability to just sit around. To not worry about getting anything done. To let a few things go undone. To daydream. To waste time — even when the kids are napping .

In a way, the daydreaming part is where the input gets turned into output. We feed ourselves all the books, poetry, nature, music, etc., but then we need to sit around and daydream, digesting the food. Once we’ve gone through the daydreaming process, then we have something to release. Then we have the output.