Before I get started, here's a link to the speech I'll be talking about/this was inspired by: http://web.ics.purdue.edu/~drkelly/DFWKenyonAddress2005.pdf
I found this speech to actually be pretty interesting, and, as a reader, the experience of reading it become quite meta.
Overall, the prospect of awareness in our "blandest" environments has always been I personally have thought about. While I sometimes become aware of sonder, a more or less unofficial word (with dubious origin) given to the realization that everyone around you has lives as complex or not so complex as your own, I often find myself thinking about why we consider these environments so bland. The answer is obvious: we pass through them daily. But when I being to really look at them, and I mean actually see them, it gets weird. There is a saying that goes something like "You can look at something a million times before you see it" and that best describes the kinds of reverie I find myself absorbed in, whether in line at the cafeteria, or waiting for something to print out. I'll look around, and actually realize how complex and strange our environment really is. As I look at the shirts those around me and myself are wearing, I realize that there are humans who have and never will see the colors of the garments, and I'm not just talking about the colorblind. Historically, many people didn't have the technology or resources to make neon shirts and such, nor the inspiration or desire. Even the patter of rain outside can be strange, I mean, it's water, that comes from the sky, in little droplets, and it's making a sound that for some reason is soothing. Even as I write this blog post things begin to get weird. The words I write and you read are simply a combination of photons, which register in your eyes, (or if someone for whatever reason decides to translate this to braille, atoms touching, which is a process within itself, your hands) and through a complex process, your brain interprets the light, and determines some parts are darker than others, and that the darker parts are letters, and that the letters form words, and the words have meaning. And the fact that the words do is what makes it all so cool. The fact that the words have meaning is indisputable. The fact that you could argue with me on that point only reveals it is so, although perhaps "meaning" itself to you means something different than me. Which is pretty cool. Because that meaning comes from your complex life, and my meaning comes from my own, and I here I have sonder. Now you see what I mean about the experience becoming quite meta.
Now that I have shaken off the eerie feeling of everything being weird, I would like to talk about not myself. However, I find that statement to be an oxymoron, because I still am defining what not is, in relation to myself. Now that weird feeling is back. For me, at least. Even our language reveals this "default" David Foster Wallace challenges us to ignore. We don't just say the names of who we talk about. That could get tricky (especially if you're like me and don't remember names), we say "you" and "I" and sometimes "he" or "she" and other things, but the use of these all depends on the object's (for lack of a clearer word, which actually kind of bothers me) relation to the speaker. In fact, if I said, "How is Bob doing?" when talking to this "Bob", in Western culture, "Bob" would find that to be considerably rude. Now, I definitely don't think we need to change our language to destroy this default. Our language has developed the way it has in order to help us better express ourselves. "Bob" finding it rude also isn't the problem. In fact, there isn't a problem. Just because our language is self-centered doesn't mean the users are. Asking how someone is doing isn't (usually) an act of selfishness, it shows we care (usually). There are other aspects of our language, which I am assuming is English (because that it was I wrote it in), which are clearly self-centered. Such as I. We capitalize it. And titles, like our names. Now some, such as danah boyd, believe that capitalizing her name, and I, are inappropriate. As for myself, I disagree. I'm obviously not going to capitalize i in the quotes I may use for danah boyd, because I respect her autonomy, and from the little I have delved into her writing (I believe she runs a blog?), I cannot say for sure if she capitalizes other's names, but I assume she does. Capitalizing I gives importance to one's self before other's, and after watching other's and myself struggle with heavy self esteem issues, this is a pretty important lesson. While it may seem vain to put yourself before others, people generally won't want your help if you're a total wreck. And for a little quote on the subject: "I will not set myself on fire to keep you warm."
We tend to think of the world in relation to ourselves, and that's perfectly okay; we need a point of reference. Some might say, but you have writing and literature and film and such too, and they are right. But first, the we would have to experience these informative and revealing arts. We do. And also we have to understand it (which is sometimes hard, which brings on deep stuff). When it boils down to it, we should challenge the "default", with ourselves at the center of the universe, it actually forces us to think. But when we lay to sleep, we will lay down to sleep, a million might also, and we might think about them, but we will. I will. I don't think this self-centered default is bad; it may have been what has allowed us to survive for this long. But as David says, we need to be aware of the water (rain, anyone). We are the center of our small universes. We see through our eyes, through the brain that processes the information, and even in the shoes of the most different person, whether we put ourselves their, or books do, or whatever, we are who is there. We see through their eyes, but have our spectacles in front of them. Is it truly "default"? A genetic predisposition or such? Does it matter? We however are not alone. A million other lives will settle down as we do for the night. Countless people, each with their own eyes (or not), and brains, and all that other stuff, and all of their experiences will be in existence with us. And that we still ask "Are we alone in the universe?", is an interesting question, because it takes basic understanding gained from complex social experiences that people are typically talking about extraterrestrial aliens, and can actually provide countless insights into humans themselves. But I find, "Am I alone in the universe?" to be a much bigger, but much easier question. At least for me.
(Hint: the answer is yes, or isn't, if you're really trying to be that person (reduced to a stereotype even though you have a complex life(oh look, sonder)))
I found this speech to actually be pretty interesting, and, as a reader, the experience of reading it become quite meta.
Overall, the prospect of awareness in our "blandest" environments has always been I personally have thought about. While I sometimes become aware of sonder, a more or less unofficial word (with dubious origin) given to the realization that everyone around you has lives as complex or not so complex as your own, I often find myself thinking about why we consider these environments so bland. The answer is obvious: we pass through them daily. But when I being to really look at them, and I mean actually see them, it gets weird. There is a saying that goes something like "You can look at something a million times before you see it" and that best describes the kinds of reverie I find myself absorbed in, whether in line at the cafeteria, or waiting for something to print out. I'll look around, and actually realize how complex and strange our environment really is. As I look at the shirts those around me and myself are wearing, I realize that there are humans who have and never will see the colors of the garments, and I'm not just talking about the colorblind. Historically, many people didn't have the technology or resources to make neon shirts and such, nor the inspiration or desire. Even the patter of rain outside can be strange, I mean, it's water, that comes from the sky, in little droplets, and it's making a sound that for some reason is soothing. Even as I write this blog post things begin to get weird. The words I write and you read are simply a combination of photons, which register in your eyes, (or if someone for whatever reason decides to translate this to braille, atoms touching, which is a process within itself, your hands) and through a complex process, your brain interprets the light, and determines some parts are darker than others, and that the darker parts are letters, and that the letters form words, and the words have meaning. And the fact that the words do is what makes it all so cool. The fact that the words have meaning is indisputable. The fact that you could argue with me on that point only reveals it is so, although perhaps "meaning" itself to you means something different than me. Which is pretty cool. Because that meaning comes from your complex life, and my meaning comes from my own, and I here I have sonder. Now you see what I mean about the experience becoming quite meta.
Now that I have shaken off the eerie feeling of everything being weird, I would like to talk about not myself. However, I find that statement to be an oxymoron, because I still am defining what not is, in relation to myself. Now that weird feeling is back. For me, at least. Even our language reveals this "default" David Foster Wallace challenges us to ignore. We don't just say the names of who we talk about. That could get tricky (especially if you're like me and don't remember names), we say "you" and "I" and sometimes "he" or "she" and other things, but the use of these all depends on the object's (for lack of a clearer word, which actually kind of bothers me) relation to the speaker. In fact, if I said, "How is Bob doing?" when talking to this "Bob", in Western culture, "Bob" would find that to be considerably rude. Now, I definitely don't think we need to change our language to destroy this default. Our language has developed the way it has in order to help us better express ourselves. "Bob" finding it rude also isn't the problem. In fact, there isn't a problem. Just because our language is self-centered doesn't mean the users are. Asking how someone is doing isn't (usually) an act of selfishness, it shows we care (usually). There are other aspects of our language, which I am assuming is English (because that it was I wrote it in), which are clearly self-centered. Such as I. We capitalize it. And titles, like our names. Now some, such as danah boyd, believe that capitalizing her name, and I, are inappropriate. As for myself, I disagree. I'm obviously not going to capitalize i in the quotes I may use for danah boyd, because I respect her autonomy, and from the little I have delved into her writing (I believe she runs a blog?), I cannot say for sure if she capitalizes other's names, but I assume she does. Capitalizing I gives importance to one's self before other's, and after watching other's and myself struggle with heavy self esteem issues, this is a pretty important lesson. While it may seem vain to put yourself before others, people generally won't want your help if you're a total wreck. And for a little quote on the subject: "I will not set myself on fire to keep you warm."
We tend to think of the world in relation to ourselves, and that's perfectly okay; we need a point of reference. Some might say, but you have writing and literature and film and such too, and they are right. But first, the we would have to experience these informative and revealing arts. We do. And also we have to understand it (which is sometimes hard, which brings on deep stuff). When it boils down to it, we should challenge the "default", with ourselves at the center of the universe, it actually forces us to think. But when we lay to sleep, we will lay down to sleep, a million might also, and we might think about them, but we will. I will. I don't think this self-centered default is bad; it may have been what has allowed us to survive for this long. But as David says, we need to be aware of the water (rain, anyone). We are the center of our small universes. We see through our eyes, through the brain that processes the information, and even in the shoes of the most different person, whether we put ourselves their, or books do, or whatever, we are who is there. We see through their eyes, but have our spectacles in front of them. Is it truly "default"? A genetic predisposition or such? Does it matter? We however are not alone. A million other lives will settle down as we do for the night. Countless people, each with their own eyes (or not), and brains, and all that other stuff, and all of their experiences will be in existence with us. And that we still ask "Are we alone in the universe?", is an interesting question, because it takes basic understanding gained from complex social experiences that people are typically talking about extraterrestrial aliens, and can actually provide countless insights into humans themselves. But I find, "Am I alone in the universe?" to be a much bigger, but much easier question. At least for me.
(Hint: the answer is yes, or isn't, if you're really trying to be that person (reduced to a stereotype even though you have a complex life(oh look, sonder)))