Participation

I was wandering our apartment with my Airpods in my ears this morning and did the quick flick up on the ear piece to increase the volume. I was in the kids’ bathroom, surveying the state of things (anyone else interested in smoothing out this bathmat or picking up this towel? Anyone?), and that quick gesture to increase the volume made me stop in my tracks (I almost completely forgot about the crumpled bathmat). Into my body rushed a feeling that is difficult to automatically conjure- and it was awe. Wow, I thought. Just like that, I can turn up music. My phone wasn’t even on me. I then instantly remembered being ten years old and flipping through the big plastic cassette tape holders at Kmart, drooling with hope, or sitting in the third row of our minivan, listening to Madonna’s Like a Prayer or Genesis’ Land of Confusion Amy Grant’s Baby, Baby, with those foam pieces covering my ears but never successfully drowning out the sounds around me. And now, here I was, walking around my house with things in my ears that played music that I could get to turn up or down or stop completely by merely swatting at them like I would a mosquito buzzing near my face.

Crazy.

Everything is moving so fast, disturbingly so at times, with AI and technology and social media and pop culture. I am no longer on social media, and I rarely sit and watch television on my own. It is now a common occurrence to scroll through Apple News and see articles on celebrities I have never heard of. I stepped back, blinked once, and suddenly I feel like I am about two decades behind the rest of the world. My crutch is that by having two teenagers, Love Island cast scandals and viral Tiktoks still find their way to me, but dear God what will become of me when I no longer have them here? I am equal parts okay with imagining a life without these stories and distractions, and also not wanting to miss out on anything.

Can I create some pacts with people in my life? Let me live with the remnants of my analog childhood, but please guide me so that I know enough to still fit in with society. I feel like continuing to get my eyebrows and hair done will show that I haven’t completely given up. It’s superficial as hell, but it’s something, isn’t it? My colorist Anya has my back.

What emerging tech will find me and become my norm, if any? Can I live the rest of my life with my Airpods, word processor, and Squarespace being my upper limit? Do I need to know all these celebrities? In Brene Brown’s Netflix special on vulnerability, The Call to Courage, she states that the opposite of Belonging is Fitting In. Fitting in means augmenting one’s behaviors to find their place in a group. Belonging is to be accepted as you are, without needing to change. That these two concepts are at opposite ends of the spectrum sat in my heart for a while after I heard it. Can I still belong in social groups without knowing the various ways the world spins, per verified influencers?

And, similar to how I purposefully choose to read paper books over a Kindle- I liked the feel of a walkman in my hand, untangling the headphone cord from my seatbelt. I liked the clacking sound of cassette tapes and CDs as I scrolled through the music racks at Kmart. I liked buying an album and not knowing if I would actually like the whole thing, and then being pleasantly surprised, or not- but even that was part of the experience. Don’t get me started on my five CD disc changer in my first car. Selecting the CDs each week and memorizing their order was magical. Even my very first ipod, gifted to me by my then-boyfriend, now-husband, was a device with purpose. I loaded my music onto that thing with intention. I liked its weight in my hands, and savored its invitation to find a corner and listen without distraction.

I got off of social media because of the way that my energy was impacted by what I saw there. It was a move for my mental health. But my fear- what happens now, after deciding not to participate? Do I need to consume these platforms after all, so that I still fit in somewhere? And better yet, can I still belong in a life where I seek to exist more in flesh and blood than online?

I keep thinking of Sandra Bullock in the terrifying movie Gravity, spinning out uncontrollably in outer space. In my quest to find grounding through purposeful, intentional action (and not mindless scrolling– or scrolling that begins mindlessly but ends in fear or resentment or FOMO, all potential emotional consequences of an afternoon dive into social media), I risk losing my grounding through connection.

Please don’t forget about me. I promise not to forget about you, if you wish to play in this world with me. The more the merrier here, as they say.

And for the love of God, someone, anyone, please pick up this towel.