Time, weighing

I read an article the other day in the New York Review of Books, a review of reissues of the work of Bette Howland, a writer who won some awards back in the day, but is now largely forgotten.

So first, let that be a caution: Howland won a Guggenheim and one of the first MacArthur “Genius Grants” – and still went out of print and is hardly read today.

It was an interesting essay, but then I am always up for a piece on a writer’s life, especially if that writer is not well-known today and extra points if it’s a woman.

My main takeaway, however, was what writer Elaine Blair remarks at the end of her piece. Howland’s work is not, as it turns out, strong enough to recommend:

Though this makes Howland an interesting and enormously sympathetic figure, it doesn’t make me want to recommend her books to someone asking for advice about what to read next. That person asking for book recs is alive! Not for long. Her time should weigh on us

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Her time should weigh on us

This captures, almost perfectly, a particular concern of mine.

First, it’s something that shapes my own consumption, as we say, of created content, as we say again.

My son asked me if I would watch Casino with him. No. I have no interest and those three hours? I can easily find something more interesting to engage with. But have at it, if you want.

(He ended up watching Casino Royale instead. I declined that invitation, too, and sat outside reading Bellow, until I realized I’d already read it some time ago, and then Singer. The interest in casino-related films being fueled, he said, by a YouTube video he’d watched on someone giving a tour and explaining the workings of casinos.)

So of course, YMMV and it will. Dissertations have been written on the definition and value of “wasting time” – and one person’s time-waster is another person’s invaluable insight into…something. Or just a badly-needed way to relax.

That’s a given.

Secondly, it’s something I think about in relation to the wealth of created content that’s out there in every form and, honestly, the creator’s ethical responsibilities.

Again, a tricky thing, for what I’m talking about can easily lead to neuroticism and a creative paralysis that is constantly on the lookout for an excuse to subsume us anyway.

As in: Oh, what I make isn’t good enough. It’s not worth anyone’s time or attention. I shouldn’t even bother.

But there is, of course, a sense in which all art is “useless” – dissertations have been written on that, too, and I’m sure a quick search could turn up innumerable Instagrammable quotes that would apply.

Although – I’m really not talking about art here, either. That’s not where my brain goes with this – I’m talking about, well…content.

The content that’s produced by …producers on media platforms that seeks your attention and time, that draws you in, that creates a narrative designed to hook you in, drama to get invested in – whether it’s my weight loss journey or watching my kids grow or following my pregnancy or joining us on our RV trip or home reno project. Not to speak of getting you involved in endless, fruitless arguments that change no one’s mind, ever.

All of that can be encouraging and even educational. But it can also be a massive time-suck from which you emerge, dazed, and perhaps saying to yourself – did I really need to spend all that time watching random people I don’t know and will never meet talk to me about their morning routine or show me what they wore last Sunday or gripe/brag about their kids?

To be specific – and perhaps this will help – the first time this popped into my head was a few years ago when an Instagram person posted a story that was about her packing for a trip. Hey guys, she said, I’m heading out tomorrow and I thought you might like to see what I’m going to pack.

She wasn’t any kind of packing guru and the trip wasn’t any kind of multi-week trek across various climates. She was just going off for a couple of days and this was a way to build her connections with followers, make them think of her as their friend – or, in other words, build her brand.

And I thought two things:

I thought – maybe a good criterion for what makes sense to share on social media is: Would I present this in my regular casual, neighborly interactions?

So: would I go knock on my neighbor’s door and say, “Hey, I’m going on a trip. Wanna come watch me pack?”

Uh, no. That would be stupid and strange and a little egomaniacal.

I would, however do some or all of the following: Share cooking tips, talk about a book I’d read, listen to them, chat about kids, ponder our community’s issues, make arrangements to help each other out in some matter, share restaurant recommendations….and so on.

Secondly, I thought: Life is pretty freaking short. Is it really right to play on people’s boredom and need for connection by invited busy people to take time out of their day to watch a video of me packing for a trip?….or invite them to spend energy investing in my family’s life or any particular part of my “story,” especially on a day-to-day basis?

As I said, YMMV and yes, there’s a line which is not always thick and easy to discern – I search for an instructional video on cleaning my shower and get hooked into something less relevant and then something else, maybe involving the shower cleaner’s fascinating life and before I know it, well that shower will get cleaned tomorrow, I guess.

And what’s the difference between reading a narrative in a novel and following a personal narrative via an Instagram account? What’s the difference between laughing at a quality comedic show or film and laughing at a hilarious TikTok creator?

Sometimes – nothing.

And what’s the difference between all of that and me taking time to craft this blog post and inviting you to take a couple of minutes out of your busy life to read it?

Perhaps there’s no difference. Or perhaps it goes back to what I judge I would honestly do in face-to-face interactions and apply that, in some way, to a digital space.

But sometimes, there’s quite a bit of difference, and it’s obvious. Ultimately the onus is on me as a consumer to draw back and make the best use of the limited time I have on this earth.

But in a time in which it’s so easy to create content and the temptation to build a personal brand that way, by moving from informative and uniquely helpful to pulling folks into my narrative in a way that I never would IRL unless I’m a attention-seeking narcissist – there’s an onus on creators, too.

As in:

Her time should weigh on us.