3.9.10: The Attraction Distraction
I attended a writer’s conference recently where almost every seminar had something to do with building your “brand,” building a “platform,” starting a blog, or the merits of social networking (Facebook, LinkedIn, etc.). Now, these were not suggestions or recommendations. They were presented to attendees as the essential tools for every writer in the 21st century. In fact, the over-riding theme was, if you haven’t been “Tweeting” about your blog, if you haven’t got an avatar and a Facebook page, and if you aren’t regularly updating your LinkedIn profile—then you don’t exist. While this information was hardly new, the way in which it was presented was disturbing and disheartening. And eye opening.
It took a few weeks for it to sink in, but, eventually, I had a revelation: an epiphany that would change my life for the better. What happened was, while in the midst of scrolling past tweet after tweet of links and other nonsense, of calls-to-action and self-promotions, I imagined F. Scott Fitzgerald performing a similar task. The idea of the author of “The Great Gatsby” tethered to his laptop, forced to condense his thoughts to 140 character sound-bytes in an effort to build his platform, seemed absurd. And it led me to imagine other writers doing equally ridiculous things. I pictured Ernest Hemingway searching for JPEGs of Paris and Africa to use on his website. I thought about Vladimir Nabokov updating his LinkedIn profile (changing the moniker “writer” to “novelist”) and of George Orwell initiating Facebook searches for Camus and Sartre. And I wondered if Truman Capote would have uploaded his party videos to YouTube or if he would have Skyped himself making line edits to “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Although, quite frankly, those last two ideas don’t seem so far-fetched.
What does this have to do with Mental Wellness? Well, first of all, everything has something to do with mental wellness. But one irrefutable avenue to living a happier more fulfilled life is to live it mindfully. And Internet-based activities are, more often than not, the antitheses of mindfulness; one thing leads you to another and then to another in a series of unconscious clicks until you’ve lost sight of what it was you were searching for in the first place.
In “Happy At Last: The Thinking Person’s Guide to Finding Joy,” Richard O’Connor asserts that we resist being mindful. “Mindfulness brings us smack up against a lifetime of bad habits and makes us face our fears and other feelings that are extremely powerful despite the fact that we’re unconscious of them.” While the Internet certainly has many positive uses, there are also a number of negative ones. It can be an addictive distraction that deludes us into thinking we’re “friends” with Ashton Kutcher (a substitute for real friendships), that our “surfing” is research, and that our procrastination is productivity.
About six months ago, I abandoned my writing projects (the things that actually provide me with fulfillment, satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment) in order to build my platform. But once my platform gets established, I won’t have anything to promote. I did this out of fear. Out of peer pressure. Out of ignorance. O’Connor writes, “Resistance [to being mindful] comes from fear, but it gets manifested as a thousand different distractions, obstacles, and arguments against doing what is good for you.”
I’m mindful now that I don’t want to spend my days building platforms or self-promoting my every move across multiple sites. I want to spend my days writing, not trying to figure out why my widgets don’t work. Besides, once everyone has a platform, they’ll have to find new ways to differentiate themselves.
It’s only been a few days since I stopped logging on to Twitter and engaging in random Google searches, but I’m already considerably happier and decidedly more productive. I’ve also significantly reduced how often I check e-mails, blog stats and Facebook updates, and have unsubscribed from everything that isn’t essential. The result I’m happy to report is a freer, more present, less judgmental me.
What do you do unconsciously and/or habitually that keeps you from being your best, most joyful self?
Bruce Genaro is a freelance writer living in Northern California. He received his BA from Dominican University, magna cum laude, and is a graduate of the University of San Francisco’s MFA writing program. He writes articles, short stories and essays that have appeared in various journals, literary magazines, websites, blogs, and newspapers, including the San Francisco Observer and The Huffington Post. He is a regular contributor of book reviews for both the Sacramento and the San Francisco Book Review. He can be reached at bgenaro@gmail.com
