Feedback

Originally written August 20, 2011

I think people thrive on feedback. Most people, anyway. I'm not sure if I envy or pity those who don't, because theirs must be a world of some serious solitude. Where no one else is needed or invited. But I think this is why people love social media like blogs and Facebook and Twitter. Because you can just kind of toss out an idea and go, "Hey, guys, what do you think about this?" and the purpose of those platforms is so that your friends or others can offer their opinions in whatever time or way they fancy. That's why it was so cool in the beginning. And why it's still so cool for people who are influential. But I think the ease of the whole thing may have damaged it now. Because as effortless as it is to throw out an idea into open internet-dome, it's equally painless to read, take in, and then move on without another thought. The movement for feedback has become kind of stagnant. Whereas at the beginning it was an assumed obligation, now it's the most gracious of courtesies to offer the whole of your thoughts on the project or idea a person presents to you, the internet audience. Granted, you can kind of go half-way. With a click you can simply "like" something, implying that you have read and at least half-heartedly agree with it, but not enough to expound upon your feelings or to challenge the notion further. Heaven forbid a discussion should break out.

I find this new scarcity of feedback really sad. And I understand why it happens. As a person who uses the internet, I sometimes feel so plagued with requests for my feedback that all I can do is walk away and ignore them all. It's a tiring thing, coming up with informed opinions on all that's available to see in this vast web world (world wide web, ha ha). But then, when you become the person who finally gets up the guts to toss out a precious idea, probably one that you've slaved over to word just right or you've rewritten again and again to find just the perfect melody, when you are the creator and you're sending your little baby to the stage, the last thing you want to hear--even, perhaps, after boos and jeers--is crickets.

This is a two-way street. You can't go around consuming across the internet giving no feedback, and then expect everyone to stop what they're doing and write you a long note of criticism or praise for your creation. You can't take three weeks to respond to a person's carefully crafted email and then become more and more disappointed every hour they don't write back after you've sent yours. There's give and take here. And people are more important than online games and stupid human tricks on youtube.

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us

Originally written July 15, 2011

The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us.

This was the song that my iPod shuffled up to my car stereo minutes after I had watched the last Harry Potter film. I'd love to be all profound and say it was fate that this song came up because it seemed to capture perfectly everything I felt on that therapeutic drive home. But I must be truthful. This was the song, in all its perfect manifestation of the enigmatic feelings inside me, that came just after the right moment. Indeed, waiting in the stalled line of cars to exit the Warren Theatre parking lot was a song quite dissimilar to how I felt but welcomed, anyway, as an escape from the strangeness of my insides. Yes, the first song that graced my ears after perhaps the most pivotal point of my transition out of childhood was "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Grand Funk Railroad.

I won't lie. I funked out. Rolled the windows down, turned the volume up. Tapping out the beat on my steering wheel, I didn't give a second thought to the inappropriate abruptness my iPod had shoved upon me in that delicate moment. The jam carried me out of the brightly lit parking lot onto the dimly lamplit streets back home.

But then, after some silence, the shuffle found another tune. I was caught off-guard by the satisfaction the song evoked in me. I had not felt what I needed to sift through until Sufjan Stevens's mournful melody gently nudged me, reminding me of the great need to process what had just happened.

The story of Harry Potter was a part of me. It still is. But as my life continues to change, and my identity with it, Harry's part of me had to make a transition as well. It won't be buried, it doesn't need to hide, and it won't disappear. I cannot say that I do not and will not still need Hogwarts. I always will. And it will always be there, just as the story claims. But it will become something different to me. A part of my past with deep, resounding echos that will follow me forward. I can always go back to revisit. I never believe it is right to completely abandon the past. But now I ought to and will take what I have learned from this story, which is so very dear to me, and make my own with it. For this, I have not felt ready until this time. I'm still not sure that I am completely ready, but I have felt the shift.

Perhaps it is a providential connection that this story "all ends on July 15" and that my hybrid adolescent-adult life has been building toward some point of real transition for quite a while now. Either way, Harry's public life seems to have been intertwined with mine in this moment. I am certain that many others my age feel a similar connection and stand now at the same crossroads. I don't know exactly what the change will yield when I proceed from here - I can only be certain that change will happen. So I must take what I've gained from adolescence - the knowledge for which I've labored and that which has been graciously given me - and I must walk confidently forward with it.

I think only then will I fulfill the true intent of the story of Harry Potter - and of any story which has deeply impacted me. When I go forth and do, make, live. Then the story truly comes - and stays - alive forever.

"No story lives unless someone wants to listen. The stories we love best do live in us forever. So, whether you come back by page or by the big screen, Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home.” -JK Rowling

Aw, to hell with it

I've never had a blog, really. The post below was something I felt inspired to write as an entry to a kind of contest and I needed somewhere to put it. I actually have been blogging, though. Not a whole lot, just when I get an idea I feel I should type up, which occurs, like, once a month. But I use a private blog. It's called 750words.com. It's awesome; I highly recommend it.

I blogged on 750words instead of on a real blog because I live a life of fear. How dumb. As if I need to be ashamed of myself. So this is where I slap myself and say, "Snap out of it, sad-sack!" Every time I write something on 750words, I actually get proud of myself. Proud enough to want to show someone what I've written. Buuuuuut then I inevitably find some excuse not to publish it anywhere because I am honestly afraid of what people will think of me.

What I'm really afraid of is that people who scoff at the notion that I deem myself worth listening to. Well, I'm tired of feeling that way. It's incredible limiting. And it's getting cramped in this box I made for myself. So, ok, if you're reading this and you think I'm full of myself, please stop reading immediately and go back to watching stupid cat videos on YouTube.

I'm going to post what I've written over these past few months on 750words. I guess that means some of them will be outdated. That's ok. I'll post them with their original dates. Problem solved. Blog begun.