Hendrick Martensz. Sorgh: The Lutenist (1661)

A young man is singing and playing the lute on an open veranda. Where the woman’s thoughts have wandered is a mystery. The music and the theme of the paramours Pyramus and Thisbe in the painting in the background suggest that harmonious love is the subject. Yet the work may also be a warning against impulsive lust. Both interpretations are equally valid.

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"I doubt that heaven awaits those who get saved from pursuing their purpose."

Before I conclude that scrolling through my social media feeds amounts to an unconditional waste of my time, I might be wise to consider my underlying purpose for being there in the first place. I did not end up there because I held a deep desire to waste my precious time. Nor was I necessarily an unwilling victim, or even a victim at all. I realize that I was pursuing something important there, and that I might have even found it, however overshadowed in foreboding or misgivings, by which that result might have been accompanied. Remember, this behavior pattern emerged during the darker and most isolated periods of my existence. I’d never, before that damned pandemic, spent so much time in agonizing isolation. I strongly prefer introversion, so pandemic isolation might have brought the best of times to my experience, but it didn’t. It brought existential dread instead, with no obvious outlet. I could still get out, but only if dressed like a bandit and maintaining strict distancing. I’d never seen the faces of more than half the people I interacted with every week. I felt terribly isolated!

I began convening my weekly Zoom Chat then, a practice I continue every Friday morning even unto these days. I became the most serious writer I’ve ever been to address a sense that I’d previously just been dabbling in the profession; a pattern I continue to this day, too, even unto this very story. I also increased my so-called virtual existence, the one accomplished via social media. I leveraged my PureSchmaltz Facebook group into a base of interaction, and a fair community accreted around me. We maintained constant and steady communication, sharing the latest pandemic information. Seeking more information about the damned pandemic served as the gateway for my ever-increasing social media use. It was not a problem, but a solution, or, more precisely, it was me in search of solutions, for the dilemma I was living then could not possibly have been a one-and-done problem. It demanded ongoing dedication.

I sought not only information but also something nearly infinitely more valuable. I’ll admit that I also sought Validation, evidence that I existed and that my presence mattered. If I could help proliferate some cheerful quip, my day was made. If I could share some relatively rare and precious emergent insight, I felt useful. When I posted my latest PureSchmaltz story, I felt as if I had not wasted my time but had wisely invested it instead. I felt alive! Even cruising, looking for some unknowable something, and stumbling upon some snippet of useless but still interesting information left me feeling more purposeful. None of those efforts wasted time, even if many of them never returned anything even approaching a thin dime. If they amplified my sense of myself, they were useful effort, for I felt as though I was in danger of disappearing.

That sort of activity was probably destined to continue even after the damned pandemic was over, for it set patterns of behavior that seemed fully capable of endlessly reverberating. I might forget what I originally set out seeking, but I might continue the behavior just as if I hadn’t forgotten my deeper purpose. Once I’d discovered a form of Validation that worked, what possible justification might anyone propose for me to cease and desist? Even if I forgot my underlying purpose, I’d still be validating, experiencing that sublime reassurance that can’t help but mean so much. In that sense, my apparent compulsive scrolling was never really either an addiction or necessarily a compulsion, just a feature of my late middle age universe; more an integral part of my internal ecosystem than a malign intruder. I might find a thousand reasons to justify the behavior once I remembered my purpose was first Validation.

Have I found Validation there? I dare not speak of Validation as if it were something tangible, some bauble containable in a box. Validation seems fleeting if also sublimely satisfying. It’s rarely overwhelming in its presence, but more often quietly sustaining. It seems to be more maintenance outlay than asset. Validation’s not accumulating. It seems more like a liquid or even vaporous wealth, like cash flow, never intended to become retained earnings, yet without its steady trickle, the whole system seems less viable. One satisfying meal never once cured the ongoing hunger problem. Not even one supremely satisfying season managed to sustain its presence beyond the following equinox or solstice. My body expects lunch to be served more or less every early afternoon, regardless. My spirit, too, seems to require steady hits of Validation, regardless of the season. A moratorium from Validation seems more like a starvation than a salvation. Where scrolling’s concerned, the problem seems to be the solution, too.

So, my job cannot be to “solve” my scrolling “problem,” for nothing sought for Validation can ever be fairly characterized as merely a problem. It’s definitely possible to overdo. Too much of even the very best of good things might produce truly dreadful outcomes. Do I seek moderation, then? That objective seems way too obvious. This situation seems more nuanced than that, more subtly confounding. I, quite frankly, don’t quite know if I have a scrolling problem or if it’s just an oddly disguised feature manifesting. I might have both or neither, depending. Whatever I “have,” it seems well worth considering, for it will not do to discipline myself unnecessarily or even fruitlessly, in ignorance of the underlying value I’m gaining. Streetcorner preachers might produce instant converts of people who were no more than momentarily confused; less saved than disuaded, distracted from what might have passed for chasing their true purpose by a spate of disappointment. I doubt that heaven awaits those who get saved from pursuing their purpose.

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Tags: #Unscrolling, #PureSchmaltz