Not So Blissfully Wandering Into the Wild Blue Yonder Anymore

I'm not so blissfully wandering into the wild blue yonder anymore. Things have definitely taken several turns along the way. Much of the twists and turns, at least from my perspective, came about once what I have often referred to as the "plandemic" came about.

The world changed during those years, and in quite a few ways I changed along with it.

Anyone who has followed this blog for a long time has probably noticed that I haven't been posting on anything resembling a regular basis for quite a while. There have been a number of reasons for that. I'm going to try to change it and get back to writing more regularly, because there are plenty of subjects I'd still like to discuss.

One thing that has discouraged me from writing has been the increasingly narrow boundaries surrounding what people are supposedly permitted to discuss openly.

I've never wanted this blog to be an echo chamber. I want to be able to discuss sensitive and controversial subjects—including race, gender, religion, politics, Zionism, social norms, and other subjects that people are frequently warned to stay away from—without having to pretend certain questions, disagreements, or uncomfortable realities don't exist.

That doesn't mean everything somebody calls a "truth" automatically becomes true. Claims still deserve evidence, criticism, and debate. But neither should an argument automatically become unspeakable merely because somebody considers it politically incorrect.

There are gatekeepers, so to speak, who would seemingly prefer to determine which subjects can be discussed, which conclusions are acceptable, and even which questions are permissible to ask. That isn't a healthy environment for genuine discussion.

And before anybody tries putting a convenient political label on what I'm saying, my disagreements don't fit neatly into either camp.

Some of my opinions are undoubtedly at odds with today's political left. Others are just as much at odds with today's political right. I don't believe truth owes allegiance to either side. Simply put - I don't subscribe to the false Left Right paradigm. 

If something is true, it remains true whether somebody places it on the left, somewhere in the middle, or on the right. Truth doesn't become false because it's unpopular, uncomfortable, offensive, unfashionable, or politically inconvenient. At the same time, being controversial doesn't make something true either. The answer should be more open examination and debate—not less.

And none of this should be mistaken for an attack on people whose views differ from my own. I can disagree strongly with an idea without believing that everyone who holds that idea is a bad person. Whether we're talking about politics, religion, race, gender, Zionism, or any other controversial subject, disagreement doesn't have to mean hostility. 

If I'm going to insist upon the freedom to express views that others may find unpopular or uncomfortable, then intellectual consistency requires me to extend that same freedom to people whose opinions I may strongly disagree with. I'd much rather have an honest disagreement with someone than live in a world where either one of us is afraid to speak.

We've also reached a peculiar point where ideas about freedom of association that would once have seemed rather ordinary can become controversial depending upon who is exercising them. People have historically formed religious organizations, political clubs, cultural associations, private social groups, and countless other voluntary organizations around things they have in common.

I believe freedom of association has to mean something even when we dislike the choices other people make with that freedom. There is an important distinction between someone's freedom to choose their private associations and denying another person equal treatment under the law or access to public accommodations. But within genuinely private and voluntary association, I don't think society should be in the business of dictating whom people must socialize or organize with—including when those associations revolve around religion, politics, culture, race, or some combination of them.

Free association isn't much of a freedom if it exists only for associations everybody approves of.

Interestingly enough, some of the major online platforms appear to have loosened up somewhat compared with where things seemed to be heading several years ago. YouTube and Facebook, for example, sometimes seem more tolerant of viewpoints that challenge prevailing political or cultural orthodoxies than they once were.

That certainly doesn't mean anything goes, and these companies still have rules and limits. But the boundaries of mainstream discussion appear to be shifting.

You can see some of that in the increasingly open public debate surrounding Zionism, Israel, the Palestinians, and related political questions—subjects where opinions that once seemed confined to the margins are now discussed much more openly across the political spectrum.

Perhaps the people running these platforms have recognized something rather basic: if public attitudes change, platforms that depend upon the public eventually have to respond to those changes. They may still try to rein things in around the edges, but it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain yesterday's boundaries when the conversation outside those boundaries has already moved on.

There was also a time when I was much more concerned about what other people would think about something I wrote.

I'm considerably less concerned about that today.

My bigger concern now is whether what I write will still be there tomorrow.

But my concerns about where we've ended up go well beyond politics and questions of free expression. I can't help feeling that the culture itself has become increasingly broken. Much of what once provided some semblance of normalcy seems to keep getting watered down or simply disappearing.

I'm not suggesting that everything about the past was better—it certainly wasn't—but there were ordinary social customs that helped hold people together. 

Even something as simple as friendly small talk seems to be fading away. Strike up an innocent conversation with a stranger, or sometimes even with someone you see regularly, and increasingly you get the impression that people simply don't want to be bothered.

We've become more connected technologically while, strangely enough, often seeming less connected personally.

A casual "How are you doing?" or a few minutes talking about the weather, something happening around town, or whatever else might come up shouldn't feel like an antiquated social custom.

Maybe some people consider that progress.

I don't.

There was something worthwhile about living in a culture where ordinary people could acknowledge one another, exchange a few friendly words, disagree about things without immediately becoming enemies, and then go about their day. Those little interactions may not seem terribly important until enough of them disappear. Eventually you begin to realize that they were part of the social glue holding a community together. 

And I don't say any of this because I'm against technological advancement. Far from it. Technology has given us capabilities that would have seemed almost unimaginable not that long ago, and when it's used properly it can make life easier, expand our knowledge, connect people across enormous distances, and open doors that simply weren't there before.

The problem isn't that we use technology.

The problem begins when technology starts using us.

Technology should be a tool in our hands—not something that gradually takes control of our attention, our habits, our relationships, and ultimately our lives. We should be using it rather than allowing ourselves to be used by it.

We've created what I sometimes think of as a generation of "screen heads." And I don't necessarily mean any particular age group by that. I'm talking about all of us who can fall into the habit of spending far too much of our lives with our heads stuck behind some sort of screen—a phone, a tablet, a computer monitor, or even a television.

Go out into public and look around sometime. People can be sitting only a few feet away from one another while occupying entirely different worlds on their phones. Something that was originally supposed to help us communicate can, ironically enough, become one of the things keeping us from communicating with the person sitting right beside us.

There's a certain irony in having nearly the entire accumulated knowledge of humanity accessible from something we can carry around in our pocket, yet sometimes being too absorbed in that little screen to say hello to the person standing in front of us.

Again, I don't want technology to disappear. I certainly use it myself. I'm writing these thoughts on the Internet, after all. I simply think we need to remember who's supposed to be in charge of the relationship.

Technology should enhance human life, not replace it.

And there's certainly nothing wrong with surfing the web. It can actually be quite enjoyable, not to mention useful. You can find a new recipe to try, learn how to fix something around the house, discover some little tidbit of information you never knew before, research something that has always interested you, or stumble across an idea that genuinely improves the quality of your life.

Used that way, the Internet is an extraordinary resource.

But there's still an entire world beyond the web.

Sometimes we should pick up an actual book and simply read—not because somebody sent us a link, not because an algorithm recommended a thirty-second clip, and not because we're waiting for the next notification, but simply for the pleasure of sitting down and becoming absorbed in something.

And sometimes we should put all of it aside and interact with the people around us.

Have a conversation without repeatedly checking a phone. Sit with somebody and actually listen to what they're saying. Share a meal. Visit somebody. Talk to a stranger when the opportunity naturally presents itself. Spend some time outside. Look around. Pay attention to where you are.

Be there.

There's nothing inherently wrong with the virtual world. I enjoy parts of it myself. But the virtual world should supplement the real one, not become a substitute for it.

Maybe that's part of the balance we've lost. We have more information at our fingertips than any previous generation could have imagined, but information isn't the same thing as experience.

Reading about life isn't living it.

Watching somebody else's life isn't living your own.

And communicating through a screen isn't quite the same thing as looking another human being in the eye.

Surf the web. Find that recipe. Learn something new. Enjoy the technology.

Then every once in a while, close the browser, put the screen down, pick up a book, talk to somebody, walk out the door, and experience some of the world firsthand.

Maybe what a lot of us need—and I absolutely include myself in this—is simply to get out more and start living in the moment again.

Get outside. Go somewhere. Take a walk. Sit somewhere and watch the world go by. Talk to somebody. Notice what's happening around you instead of constantly experiencing life through a screen or thinking about whatever notification might be waiting for you.

We need moments when we're free of the leashes we've accumulated, electronic or otherwise.

Phones and other devices are certainly part of it, but those aren't the only leashes. There are schedules, routines, expectations, obligations, and all sorts of things that can leave us feeling tethered to something every waking minute.

Obviously, responsibilities don't simply disappear, and I'm not suggesting that they should. I'm talking about remembering to occasionally make room for simply being alive—without feeling as though every moment has to be occupied, documented, uploaded, answered, or interrupted.

And again, I'm preaching to myself here just as much as anybody else.

Maybe we all need to occasionally leave the phone alone, step away from the television or computer, get out from behind those screens, and experience wherever we happen to be while we're actually there.

Live some of life without an electronic leash.

Live some of it without any leash at all.

Just get out there and live in the moment.

I don't expect everybody to agree with me. In fact, I'd be rather surprised if they did. I don't even expect everything I write today to perfectly match what I believed ten or twenty years ago. People change. Circumstances change. New information comes along, and sometimes we discover that we were wrong.

What I do want is the freedom to explore those questions without constantly looking over my shoulder wondering whether expressing the wrong opinion, asking the wrong question, or touching the wrong controversial subject will cause years of writing to disappear.

So perhaps this is also my way of returning to what blogging was supposed to be in the first place: a person sitting down and saying what he thinks.

Not what an algorithm wants him to think.

Not what the political left wants him to think.

Not what the political right wants him to think.

And not necessarily what the people reading it want him to think.

Just what he actually thinks—while remaining willing to question it, defend it, change it when the evidence warrants it, and let other people make up their own minds.

I'm not so blissfully wandering into the wild blue yonder anymore.

But I'm still wandering.

And perhaps it's time I started writing about the journey again.