I read all the time. I love it. My fantasy would be to be locked into a library. I’d be very, very happy.
Pink
Traitor To My Time
Do you ever feel out of place in your time? Is the post-modern era just not you?
I don’t mean physically, necessarily, although it’s tempting to look back to a time when one’s personal physique was the ideal and the clothing of the era would actually be becoming. (Note to self: avoid 1920s.)
Do you ever have the feeling that you are out of step with your times, that their values are not yours, and you just don’t fit in?
I feel this quite frequently. I haven’t settled on a preferred piece of history (probably just as well as I couldn’t get there if I did) but I am most definitely not a Thoroughly Modern Millie – or an Ironically Postmodern Paige.
I recently read an interesting article by Adam Gopnik on why he doesn’t tweet. He asserts that people largely adopt the latest newest social media/communication device or technology because they want to fit in. As he puts it: “The urge to belong to our age is more powerful than the need to use our time efficiently… They fear being traitors to their time, renegades to their generation.”
It’s not about the need. It’s about the fun and groupiness of the new way of doing it. I once had someone text me in the bus to ask me to open the window – someone sitting less than two metres away who could have made himself heard without even raising his voice.
And who hasn’t seen the two teens sitting side by side, texting each other? By no stretch of the imagination are their cell phones fulfilling a need. It’s just fun. Era-appropriate fun, although if their parents are paying their mobile bills they might disagree.
Now, I am not so utilitarian of soul as to suggest that all these forms of technology and communication be dropped. But we tend to see them as a sort of sine qua non of modern life, and as a result those who don’t adopt them are left out – not intentionally marginalised, but nonetheless finding themselves out on the fringe.
It is possible to live a full and fulfilling life in 2014 without a Twitter feed. Or a Facebook account. Or even a cell phone. You may miss out on some witty exchanges (assuming they weren’t high-profile enough to make the news) or some parties (because Facebook only lets your friends invite Facebook-people) or that thing you just remembered you should have put on the shopping list, but think of what you gain.
We complain of overload – too many contacts, too much that could be interesting, and too many people playing annoying games or posting pictures of what they had for lunch (before they ate it: mercifully there is no ‘Digesti-Cam’ app – yet).
Of course, many people judge that ‘keeping up’ is worth these hassles – and that’s their choice, a choice they should be free to make. But it isn’t a choice if you don’t feel you have any option.
So here I am, planting a flag in 2014 and claiming this little piece of the post-modern era for those taking the path less travelled by: the traitors to our time.
Full disclosure: I do have a cell phone. I use it every day, but I’m considering getting an alarm clock to do the job instead.
the Master Metaphor
I recently read The Creative Compass by Dan Millman and Sierra Prasada, and came across the really rather interesting idea of the Master Metaphor. To quote:
“At some point in your life, perhaps more than once, you achieved something, despite the odds against it, because of a longing or determination that you can’t fully explain. It might be a skill that initially seemed out of reach or a one-time accomplishment: jumping off the high diving board, delivering a speech at a school assembly, or travelling to a distant country. That experience, as distinguished by the inexplicable feeling that accompanied it, forms your Master Metaphor.”
It doesn’t have to be an accomplishment that the world deems great, it just has to be something that was hard but you did anyway. A symbol of your ability to succeed against whatever’s pushing the other way – tiredness, lack of ability, your own character flaws.
It’s the ace up your sleeve you pull out when the chips are down. (Mixed metaphor? Not sure.) I did that, I can do this, you tell yourself.
It took me a while to figure out what my Master Metaphor could be, given my propensity for giving up if I don’t get it right the first time, a besetting flaw if ever there was one.
Then it came to me. Socks.
Not the sort Polly Oliver uses to -er, bolster her male impersonation, nor yet the shortened form of ‘Socrates’ with which Walter Judson tries to maintain a philosophic calm on the golf course.
To be precise, turning the heel when knitting a pair of socks. I have mentioned before how long it took me to figure out how to do it, even with a clear and simple pattern to hand. I’m surprised I persevered, given that I had no pressing need to knit socks, only a pressing desire, and that much shaken by repeated failure.
The problem was that I couldn’t see how what I was doing was going to produce the desired result. I couldn’t visualise how it all went together, so in the end I just had to carry on in faith that it would turn (pardon the pun) into a heel. And it did.
That’s a good metaphor for writing right there. You get your structure sorted (the pattern) and then you just keep going even if it looks like nothing on earth, trusting that it will come out the right shape if you just keep going.
So what’s your Master Metaphor? And do you know any good patterns for socks?