Pedestilance
I have a weird problem.
The lifecycle of interests, for me, goes something like this:
- Get super excited about something new
- Get flooded with ideas about what I can do with the thing
- Get overwhelmed by the flood of ideas
- Drown in the rising tide
- Wake up on some unfamiliar shore
- Scurry and scamper and gather my bearings
- Embrace ennui (as inevitable)
- Get distracted by something new
- Rinse and repeat
This cycle is something of a recent phenomenon. Earlier, for whatever reason, rather than allow the flood, I'd make myself busy with whatever it was that grabbed my interest; which would allow the flood to manifest itself as a trickle, gradually steadying into a stream--all channeled well and sustainably by the busyness instigated through that curiosity-charged discovery.
It didn't matter to me so much what I could do with the thing, it only mattered what I was doing with it.
Like blinders, this allowed me to instinctively fall into a steady pace unencumbered by the distraction of being susceptible to distractions. Ideas are great, and collecting knowledge feels productive--but, in both cases, nothing really happens.
That's not to say real production and the manufacture of value are the only milestones by which progress (or even just significance) might be measured.
Rather, it's the sense of restlessness fostered by self-conscious non-doing that I find disconcerting.
All that complaining aside, I think I have struck upon a solution. Well, two options for one solution:
- Start moving years of blogposts, at an un-annoying pace, over from their current residential scatter into this new home. Or,
- Start writing for the sake of writing, allowing the writingness to become rekindled through that persistence somehow; maybe even taking on novel forms of voice and tone. (this would be the 'doing as exploring/discovering' approach)
And the obviously invisible third option (that every dichotomy silently begets; as the neither-this-nor-that omnegation/compromise):
- Find some viable configuration of the two.
Now, you might wonder why I feel the need to detail my plans as almost a public declaration. And you would be in good company to wonder so. I'm a part of that group. But, motivation being the quiet upset here, this is merely another branch of effort in the attempt to invigorate whatever muscle is involved in that subconscious mechanism.
P.S. I feel the need, also, to mention that I place the blame for the pedestilance of my ever-bobbing interests squarely on the climate of validation and notificatory gratification fostered by the writing platforms of mid-yore. Since the big-web flavour of social media hass been around long enough to become an institution, it has then also been around long enough to become an aspect of our history. Therein, culture draws from it(s very presence)--whether that amounts in the negative or the positive.
Thus, my acknowledgement of this is merely an attempt to instigate dialogue through the statement of familiar quandaries. What would the world have looked like if the indie-web was the version of the web that dominated the mainstream? Would overwhelm still be the predominant undercurrent? Or would we have all found niches, nooks, and crannies nestled perfectly in a cozy, personalized Goldilocks zone?
It might be that the Fediverse is an attempt to examine the implications of this very hypothetical. Is, then, its current state an answer; or is it yet an answer in progress?
Send me your thoughts (if I've managed to inspire you thus). I feast on words and I've grown tired of my own (for now), even tasty as they tend to be.