Nowadays we personalize everything from our ring-tones to our news. It’s a closed circuit of familiar individuality that excludes everyone else and fertilizes that old sense of alienation. It’s gotten to the point where feeling like an outsider is pretty much universal. Amuse yourself with the irony if you like.
No matter how intimate it feels while you’re listening to it, you’re not going for coffee with the people who do your favorite podcast. (I’m translating for you young people here, for me it’s the folks on the radio.) And when you do get to Starbucks and look at the people in line, you know that even if you end up voting the same way, they don’t listen to the same things you do.
This came to mind when I finished rereading (for the third time in as many months) a favorite book, and realized I had no one to talk to about it. I don’t know anyone who’s read it, nor do I know anyone who would enjoy it. I did eventually email a “thank you” to the author, but I’d happily trade his gracious acknowledgement for a real conversation with someone who didn’t write the story but liked reading it.
We’ve become a culture of bubble babies. Forget paper letters, we don’t even email anymore because everything we have to say can be sent in a text.
Except for the infinite soliloquies of the blogosphere, if it’s too long for a text, we send a link to indicate what we’re thinking. This, not dialogue, is how we get to know people.
I miss sitting around and talking to you guys. Starbucks, anyone?
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