Nowick
Gray, columnist for Alternative Culture Magazine, offers free
online commentary on these...
Computer
Times
Quests
for Identity and Other Addictions: An Unfinished
Manifesto
The Seven
Addictive Identities, and their natural-universal antidotes:
| 1.
Sex, Sensuality, Exercise |
Space,
Nature, Health
|
|
2. Materialism, Land, Wealth
|
Comfort |
| 3.
Power, Leadership,
Influence, Sports |
Freedom |
| 4.
Conviviality, Sociability
|
Love |
| 5.
Music, Creative
Expression |
Play,
Flow |
| 6.
Intellect, Academics |
Thought,
Clarity |
| 7.
Spirituality, Discipline,
Ritual and Dogma |
Peace,
Space |
Day 1: Summer (Sept. 21, 1999)
I woke up with this existential emptiness--a yawning hole in
my sense of self--and went until noon feeling dull and useless.
The possible exception, of course, was my creaturely duty on this
working day, forwarding the cause of apple juice in the local
world. But in setting out on my four-wheeled, motorized rounds,
I abstained from yoga, meditation and jogging; just said no to
sex, drugs and rock-n-roll cassettes; ate only a light breakfast
at home and, in town, avoided ice cream, videos and coffee. With
lots of mileage in which to do some thinking, I tried to get a
handle on this penetrating malaise.
I might have been depressed about the slow progress of my novel,
or my writing career as a whole; or my marketing business, or
my website, or my musical career: the elusiveness, in other words,
of fame and money. Was I to be reduced, or rather constrained,
to mere survival, even after fifty years of being human on this
planet, even in the last months of the twentieth century, even
in the most affluent culture this world has ever produced? Was
I without talent and intelligence enough, or originality or confidence
enough, or perseverence or patience enough, to succeed in any
of the several categories of achievement which I had chosen as
my fields of endeavor?
I could have any of the elements of creaturely satisfaction that
I desired. On the material plane I had attained completion. Yet
it wasn’t enough to produce in me a deep, fulfilling contentment.
If I gave up one substance or behavior, I felt the lack of another.
If I was straight and sober, without stimulant or euphoric, I
was yet poor in my sense of social standing, or of creative satisfaction.
I had a loving partner, all the nurturing and emotional support
I could want, freedom to roam the neighboring wilderness, buying
power to eat any food I chose, two houses, land…yet I could
enjoy but little power to shape my world for the better, could
exercise a negligible influence on others.
My teenaged children and their friends humored me, or made it
easy on themselves, by catering to my wishes, when it suited them.
Among musicians around the fire circle, I could play or not, as
fickle as the flames, and it seemed not to matter: when my drum
fell silent I was not missed, and when I joined in again, I could
not positively affect the music’s course. My baseball team
was eliminated from this year’s pennant race. It seemed my
third chakra area--located in the solar plexus and symbolizing
will, worldly power and also leisure, social recreation—was
the source of my blockage. As a result my energy was obstructed
from any of the "higher" chakras (love, creativity,
insight, spiritual clarity).
I did not want to see anyone I knew: did not want to have to
answer the inevitable "How are you doing" greetings
which dogged me through this whirlwind, trans-urban day. The tapes
I routinely brought to play in the truck I now saw, in their trivial
stack by the gearshift, as mere distractions. Familiar ambitions
to succeed as a musician, or as a writer, now faded into irrelevancy,
weathered and sun-bleached by long disuse, or over-use. There
was always spirituality--the abdication of all the others--yet
that too took, in an ever-worldly way, commitment, discipline,
faith and belief in a narrow form of daily conduct. And so I could
not in all conscience, in a fully free spirit, commit myself even
to this highest path.
Certainly there were choices before me that could be made. At
least, everyone I knew had found some form of behavior, some vocational
characteristic, some favorite substance to adopt, to serve as
a reference point, a touchstone, for personal identity. But while
the choices seemed to me to be quite arbitrary, a regular cycle
of addictions, the situation was worse still: maybe the very quest
for identity was itself an addiction; a conditioned need, as opposed
to a core requirement for authentic human being.
Yes, I too, if I got desperate for some form of personal opacity,
might just as well be content with myself as a coffee drinker,
or ganja smoker; a homesteader or businessman; a community organizer
or sports buff; a party animal or drummer; a writer or academic;
a yogi or ascetic; I could--if I really worked at it or happened
to choose well--be happy. The key to this strategy, I figured,
was consistency. The body, for example, requires, as well as a
certain judicious balance, consistency. Coffee every day, it can
adjust. Just be sure to supply that cuppa. Practicing scales every
day, I will progress. And so on. But every other day, or twice
a week…the body roller-coasters; the identity reels like
a rag doll from one unhappy dance partner to another.
And so, lacking the daily discipline of consistency, whether
for or against these defining "addictions" as I dance
with them in turn, I have been unable to carve for myself a name,
a single profession; a tribal, as it were, niche. Finding myself
then without chosen or given identity, I seemed without even a
face to offer for public validation, for social redemption.
Within this so-called identity crisis, however, I noticed a calm
strength carrying me through. I was still alive. Doing my part
in whatever small way. Surviving another day, in order to…I
wasn’t ready to fill in any blanks, but rather curious to
backtrack further, to dig still deeper to find what lay behind
this increasingly suspect concept of personal/social identity.
Maybe I was onto something deeper, more meaningful than the quick
fixes everyone latched onto without thinking.
I could sense within my own experience some unquestionably positive
states of being, values or factors contributing to personal, psychic
health: what I consider the essentials for my own happiness. They
are all familiar virtues or goals in their own right: space, nature,
health, comfort, freedom, love, play, flow, thought, clarity,
peace. These universal principles are not, however, dependent
on activity with a camp of adherents, allegiance to a guru or
dogma, practice of ritual or handling of significant objects.
They are dependent only on the independent exercise of allegiance
to self. In saying this and in calling these values universal,
I recognize that external limitations and personal choices may
call up a different list of "essentials" for everyone.
Living with the values I have chosen as essential, the choice
of one does not necessarily conflict with any of the others; but
rather, each can enhance the others. They are shades of the same
way of life, as I see it. And they are generally enjoyed in solitude,
where I need not compare myself to anyone, nor to any standard.
To enjoy the more central states of being implies no hangovers,
no side effects, no political inconsistencies, no belligerence,
no harm, no ego, no striving, no desire of earthly paradise, no
self-models of proper conduct. Yet one is exposed to criticism
by others, by being different, outside the mold. Labels don’t
stick. Conversation halts. Appearances are suspect. Character
is misunderstood. Motives are unclear. There is nowhere to turn.
There is nothing more to do, or say, or have, or be. The cone
of becoming has narrowed down to a single point. All the rest
is clear space, nature, health, comfort, freedom, love, play,
flow, thought, clarity, peace, space. In becoming as small as
a single breathing point, my lone existence has come to mirror
the immensity of the knowable universe.
Day 2: Fall (September 22)
Archive:
Quests
for Identity and Other Addictions (May 2000)
Wheel
of Fortune (April 2000)
Great
Writers and Street Poets (February 2000)
Upgrade
for Speed Because Time is Running Out? (August 1999)
Retail
Therapy: Decision Making in the Computer Age (August 1999)
Retail
Therapy2: Random Brief Downtimes (August 1999)
Farouche
Speaks (April 1999)
NetGlut:
Notes from a cleansing fast (February 1998)
To
Unix and Back Alive (January 1997)
Webness
(November 1996)
Surfing
Again
(November 1996)
Bananas
in British Columbia (May 1996)
Confessions
of a computer addict (May 1996)
