Trial by grace

I've been thinking about my audioblogging lately. I'm honestly astonished that I didn't draw this connection sooner.

One of my secret indulgences has always been the first couple seasons of Felicity that I have on hand. I ran into some more insomnia last night and instead of reading like I should have, I watched some old episodes. (By the way, just to illustrate how evil and bizarre Wikipedia can be, I went from the link above to the page about Janeane Garofalo, and from there to the page about that frigid bitch Katherine Harris)

Anyway, dusted throughout the first two seasons of that show is something of a cultural anomaly. Felicity communicates long distance with her friend Sally through audio cassette taped monologues, which are essentially letters spoken out loud. It's been years since I've watched this show, and now that I think about it, this is remarkably similar to the audioblogging/podcast revolution that's slowly sweeping the blogging world. In hindsight, the seed in my mind that has blossomed into this audioblogging frenzy was probably planted by these once-nascent episodes.

For awhile, I used to want someone to trade tapes with, and it didn't matter if I knew them or not. The promised therapy of making the tapes wasn't the only reasoning that went into it; even though there was some solace in knowing that an understanding soul would unwrap each tape to commiserate, there was added comfort knowing that the same person trusted you in the same capacity with equal fervor, and you could expect similar tapes from them.

I think the advent of the internet and the birth of the blog created somewhat of a strange beast. Previously, people kept diaries and journals to keep track of their personal thoughts. If they wanted these thoughts to be shared, they either had to write letters to specific people, or just talk about them in person. Albeit of minimal effort, each action was its own. Now, someone can perform the same diary-writing action on their blog and with a click of a button, make it available for anyone in the world to view. To me, the entire thing feels like it's lacking emotion. It's like a hospital almost: cold, hollow, and static... I can almost feel the fluorescent lighting.

I'll admit, it fills a void that some may have difficulty filling otherwise. You write a blog entry and publish it, and if its public, you assume everyone will have read it by the end of the week. In a way, you free yourself from the responsibility of divulging your history to those you wish to tell. Accountability shifts to them instead, because after all, they have access to it. Why wouldn't they read it?

The difference these have from letters are the personal touches that go into them. When you write a letter, you're writing to one specific person, or at most one specific group that will share the letter, and you've emotionally invested yourself into this fact. You pour more of yourself into it, because unlike an email, letters take more time. You hand write the words. You doodle in the margins. You speak familiarly, but probably don't use familiar speech. You're more willing to say some things, but less willing to say others, depending on the letter. Everything about this letter simply drips with your personality and being. But more than anything, letters are returned. Even if the time between each letter is longer than mere hesitation, there's a rapport that's created there. And as warm as that connection is, it's still lacking. Because as symbolic as each letter is of who you are, that's all it is. Just a scrap of paper.

And then there's verbal conversation, a common occurrence. This kind of communication goes one step further in that it brings in the range of subtleties contained in human interaction. It's dynamic, it's unpredictable, it comes from the heart. Things are communicated that don't necessarily come from words. But not all of us are as perceptive as we'd like to be. And the sad truth is that, in a way, we all censor ourselves around people. There are things that we feel we can't say, not to anyone, to the point where it's hard to even say to yourself in the dark. But every part of you inside is screaming to say something, to come clean, like the proverbial shaken bottle of soda that's about to explode. Sometimes, it's because we're in denial, and to say it out loud is to acknowledge the fact that it exists and is true. But usually, it's because we fear reaction. There's no telling how someone will receive what you tell them. You're caught in this self-inflicted trap. "I broke the vase last week." "You actually do look fat in those jeans." "I love you."

I'm not trying to tout any of these three mediums as the best option. Indeed, they all have their individual, optimal usages. But for now, I think I've found a happy medium, if you'll pardon the pun. This talking-to-myself thing has turned out to be pretty cool. I'd still love to have some anonymous confidante to trade tapes with, but the truth is, life isn't a TV drama. Our lives feel as complicated as the figures we see each night and in the movies we watch, but in reality it's all very simple. The entire basis of such a relationship would be grounded in the cathartic release associated with each tape. When you strip away the overblown, romanticized versions of yourselves and when your respective lives even out and calm down, what's left? Do you resort to small talk, or simply cease communication? It's just not feasible.

Hah, I feel like I've spent the past half hour typing/talking about absolutely nothing. I guess that's striking in a way.