Edition #62: Weaving Webs and Turning Over Stones
Creating The Webbd Wheel: Circles
When I was a younger woman, I was in the habit of saying “never” and “always.”
I’m wiser now. Go ahead, make an statement with “never” or “always” in it and listen for the Gods laughing.
Loving others has given me more pain than anything else in my life. I suppose that’s why I try to control my expectations and desire for certain outcomes in such rigid language. If I tell myself I’ll never experience a kiss again like that one unforgettable kiss, it’s self-protection. It keeps my hope away. It controls my longing. If I tell myself I will always be labeled as too intense and sensitive by those I wish intimate connections with, I’ve said it before anyone else can say it, thereby easing the pain when it happens.
I’m irresistibly reminded of stories of putting a knife under a birthing bed to “cut the pain!”
Well, I’m very human. I admit it.
Relationships ebb and flow. We leave and we arrive. We flee and are then drawn back across the miles and years to our old haunts and friends. We think we’re permanently severed from those we’ve loved and then one day are in their arms again. Sometimes relationships and connections do end in a final way, but not as often as we think they will. Sometimes we think we have all the time in the world to appreciate someone in our lives and then, suddenly, they’re gone. Our time is up and we weren’t ready.
Most parents learn about the circle of leaving and arriving as their children grow up. One minute they’re underfoot, making messes, demanding food, running around with a horde of friends, wearing holes in their socks, and melting little green army men against light bulbs (he got fire-bombed, Mom!). The next minute they’re gone, leaving only the debris of childhood and the ghosts of stinking shoes in their place. It’s natural and right it should be this way. It’s also painful.
Years pass, and we still sense our beloved child, we still feel the overpowering mother love, but we must recognize and respect an adult whose life is no longer ours to share, shape, or protect. The adult child, in their turn, must recognize a whole human being and all that implies, someone wider and deeper than just “Mom.”
In The Hanged Man, Maria and her sons part with an act of violent destruction; Maria has searched for them ever since. Rapunzel and her mother part with an act of rebellion on Rapunzel’s part and rage on her mother’s part. Now the circle of time brings them together again. Rumpelstiltskin and Jenny part by mutual agreement; Jenny expects they will meet again.
My experience of life is one of circles, or perhaps spirals, not lines. A step forward, a step back, a step sideways. Sometimes I’ve had to go a long way back in order to find my way forward.
We make up so many stories about love and loss, so many assumptions and expectations. Our feelings pile up, layer upon layer, not only about a particular relationship, but about relationship in general. We are bewildered by love, annihilated by loss. We say to ourselves, “There. I’m done with that. It’s over,” only to spiral back around some number of years later and reenter the same disorienting confusion, the same cold edge of loss, as though nothing has changed in the space between.
Yet every time we revisit an old relationship we are different, and that means new possibilities exist within our connection. Perhaps now the unsaid can be said. Perhaps now feelings once too tumultuous to be shared can be shared. Perhaps now hidden things that kept us from joining hands can be revealed. Not always. Not never. But perhaps.
Weaving Webs
In the last week or two I’ve been reading other Substack writers on the subject of digital reading. Both above and below links provide further links on this discussion.
What do we read? What tools do we use for reading? Can we read long fiction on our phones? On our laptops? Do we need an app for reading digital work? How long are we willing to wait for the next installment in a serial book? What are our barriers to reading digitally? What about distraction and lack of focus? What about having too much to read?
Many people express feeling overwhelmed by how much they want to read. Several write about being too distracted to focus on any sort of long-form writing on their devices. Some use read-later apps like Instapaper or Pocket. Some download onto a Kindle reader or need an eBook.
Recently, Substack rolled out a new app. A lot of reviews were quite positive. People said it simplified their email inboxes and kept all Substack publications in one place. Many writers installed the app, encouraged readers to do so, and started chats and other kinds of interactions via the app only.
I watched for a while before deciding to install the app. I didn’t want it on my phone, however. I wanted it on my laptop. After installation, I found all my Substack subscriptions in the app. I can archive, get recommendations, explore, save articles, and scroll through a list of newsletters from writers I follow.
And scroll. And scroll. And scroll …
I had already read some of the articles I saw on the app from my inbox, so I wanted to delete them, which is what I do in my email. I looked. And looked. I moved a couple of articles into archives and tried to delete from there without success. I checked every button, every line of three dots, every option and icon I could see, but I couldn’t find any way to delete. Finally, I emailed Substack support, feeling like an idiot for not being able to figure out how to do such a simple thing.
Guess what? The app only allows addition. No deletion.
The depth of my outrage made me laugh. The context fascinates me. In the midst of ongoing debate and discussion in the world about social media, AI, the pros and cons of technology, the upheaval of how we provide and consume artistic content of all kinds, and concerns about our cultural, social, and mental health, especially among young people, an app is created (or a social media platform, or a mega shopping site, or a new all-in-one streaming service) allowing only addition. No subtraction. Infinite choice. Infinite scrolling. Infinite distraction and demand.
This is not a thumbs down for Substack, by the way. They’re creating a remarkable space here, and I’m glad to be a part of it. Substack’s stated purpose, however, is to facilitate the relationship between writer and reader. The platform intends to put the writer in control of his/her own material, allowing a direct relationship with readers. I want that, but the reason I’m not on social media or milking the Google SEO cow is because I prefer quality to quantity. I’d rather have three readers than 30 subscribers who don’t read or unsubscribe. Subscribers who don’t read make my stats meaningless and I’m contributing to the digital clutter in their lives. Nobody wins.
We are overwhelmed by choice. Streaming services appear unlimited. The Internet is larger than I can imagine. Mega-stores abound online. Tech grows exponentially. I have spent hours in the rabbit hole of YouTube. I go to look for one specific thing, but while I’m watching that I see a flash mob dance video. Then I see an animal video. Then I see a One Voice Choir video. Pretty soon, even though I know time is passing and I know I want to stop (but somehow don’t), four or five hours have passed. Our technology is engineered to capture and keep our attention.
But all this choice hasn’t made us happier or more productive or improved our relationships or health. Our focus is weak. Our impulse control is absent. Our attention span is minimal. We try to do everything and thus achieve nothing. Yet the thought of limiting choice, limiting what we read, watch, and listen to, is abhorrent. Many writers I read have several writing projects in hand, and several more they want to get to. I myself run a blog as well as my Substack pages and am writing another book.
Most writers are readers. But the more time I read on Substack, the less time I’m writing. Much as I’d like to spend hours a day exploring Substack and subscribing to various writers who add value to my life, I don’t choose to. I carefully choose a manageable number of people to follow, which means I frequently unsubscribe. I have a couple of favorite shopping sites and unsubscribe from other advertising. When my Inbox is piled high, I feel overwhelmed, so I read, take action, make links, create folders, and delete at least once a day. Does this mean I miss out on great deals, on great writers, on great articles? Of course. But we always miss out on something. None of us can do it all. Enhanced availability doesn’t enhance our ability to consume everything; it only provides another avalanche of choices to dig out of. More choice doesn’t mean all the choices are high quality or worth our time.
We can choose to keep our lives simpler, to focus on one thing at a time, to enjoy the pleasure of reading good writing. We are allowed to say no. We don’t have to keep up with all of it. We don’t have to read all of it, write all of it, listen to all of it, respond to all of it. We don’t have to pursue infinite choice.
Sometimes the solution is not addition, but subtraction.
Turning Over Stones
Questions:
What relationships have you circled into and out of unexpectedly?
How do you like to read? If you read digitally, how do you do it?
How do you feel about your ability to focus?
Do you manage your digital clutter, or does it manage you?
Leave a comment below!