The reason I write my music blog is because I genuinely love sharing music. It isn’t necessarily to build a persona for myself (although it has helped grow my career in the industry), hone my writing skills, say “I was there” or just… have a blog. I can’t imagine not having having that platform to share sounds daily; to promote songs that make people feel good, the way they make me feel. But, I think being a blogger has made me hyper-aware of how “everything is content” – literally, all around me, all the time – and how I shouldn’t miss those opportunities to share or capture. I shouldn’t forget to take that photo to add to my post, that video to illustrate just how good a show was, that Instagram to engage a visual community, or a tweet to connect with the band. Everything is content, and because of this – nothing goes unheard or unseen.
I see how this spills over into the rest of my life, too. While we’ve moved past the days of 60-photo-deep Facebook albums – from that one person who always had a camera – now, every small moment is documented in social media dribs and drabs, which I might prefer less. There’s no longer an excuse to not have a camera on hand. Every wild or funny experience, every concert, every event, is instantly videotaped, Snapchat-ted or Instagrammed (and subsequently, properly filtered) – sometimes causing the memorable moment itself to get lost. I’m guilty of this. Despite the obvious hilarity and nostalgia that comes with photographic evidence – sometimes I do step back and wonder if just the memory will ever be enough again.
Everyone often says how they actually love being in situations that force us to leave our phones behind, or lack reception – as if we’re captors of the device and need an externally-imposed obstacle to put it away. The key to surviving the over-saturated digital age might be enforcing that obstacle, way more often, ourselves.
As I was on the train for work recently, coasting through the countryside, I had a moment. The trees were whipping by my eyes faster than I could register, lit by the hot sunset, the corn field in the background blazing alight. As the riff of one of the most reflective rock songs was building in my headphones, I thought to myself, “Man, I wish people could see and feel this.” Everything seemed aligned, and I felt that all-too-familiar urge to reach for an app. But, I quickly decided that there was likely no Snapchat, Instagram or video that could make anyone feel how I felt in that exact moment. So, I didn’t do a thing about it. And, it felt amazing; it felt sacred, like it was one of the experiences that was still just mine.
Until I wrote that last paragraph in a note on my iPhone, so that I didn’t forget, and published it here. Sigh.
What do you think about over documentation of… life?
Jess, I feel this way A LOT, especially lately. My blog is so incredibly personal (especially the Over a cup of tea posts), and it pains me to admit this, but some days I wish I’d never started it. I envy the people who don’t have Facebook or Twitter – the people whose lives are private, more intimate, and in many ways, more sincere. Alas, the readership of my blog sky-rocketed once I started the Over a cup of tea series, and I actually NEED Facebook for things like book club and work etc. So… I’m not sure what to feel. Of course I can always control what I put online, but to go backwards would be very hard at this point. When I read the title of this post, it resonated – thanks!