Life, this modern one, puts demands on us most unfair and unnatural and unyielding. It forces us into boxes and verticals and woe unto he (and more often not “she”!) who straddles or steps between or steps outside those lines and boxes and boundaries for the idea of a whole person acting as a whole person is anathema to the efficient life which, is to say, anathema to modern life which demands that you choose one path and damn well better stick to it come hell or high water.
I do not blame social media – it is prevalent because it meets a need. What is that need? A need to express a self-curation and to document the life that is being lived in the manner that prepares it to be made into a memoir. We spend so much time on that: creating and having these unique experiences and attempting to make our life fit into an appropriate plot. And you know what we’ve forgotten in the midst of all that fitting and cropping and filtering?
That pre-written memoirs suck. They really, really suck.
They are formulaic, fake, insipid, repetitive, and most of all, surface. They are surface.
And we have become surface because to dig underneath is to disturb this perfect patina and that would most definitely fall under the header of “stepping outside”.
We are living our lives for a memoir that will only be written if we simply started living for the sake of life.