These worlds that we have self-constructed seem to become more full by the day with budding new relationships (digital or otherwise), yeoman-like tasks, and stranger-to-stranger interaction.
We measure our self-worth not by the influence of our social sphere but rather by the girth of that sphere, or how girth-y we can make it.
There is an obsession that we be immersed in as much as possible.
It’s taxing, really. Tiring too, but mostly mentally and emotionally taxing on our beings. As bloggers (and writers, because there’s a stark difference between the two) we’ve been learning this. You give and connect and work and grow this platform you’ve been blessed with because, for whatever reason, you think everyone in the world needs to hear what you have to say.
There’s a tricky balance to it. Not unlike a chef creating the proper ebb and flow of a delectable five-course meal.
We (as Americans in the 21st century) feel the need to expand our personal brands to the point that they become so diluted we don’t even know what we’re delivering anymore. We’re so obsessed with more (not more stuff, just more) that we don’t stop along the way to engage in the treasure of conversation to be had between new friends and good, threadbare relationships.
And that’s really the travesty in it all — that we miss out on slowing down to enjoy the fulfilling moments because we’re too busy trying to see how many moments we can accumulate.
So to you my wife, I’m sorry for putting Google analytics ahead of asking you about your walk with God. I’m sorry that I fall, so often, into this camouflaged pit of destructive behavior that society calls “success.”
And I’m sorry that I’ve let knowing people be easily replaced with following and reading people. It’s one of the great flaws my generation faces, but I have no excuses (and few solutions for that matter) to offer up.