For the most part, technology is all well and good. The exception that jumps into mind at the moment is LinkedIn, which, in my opinion, is a useless insecurity-making device. I only visit the site when I'm asked to confirm a LinkedIn connection request, because, once there, I inevitably find myself scrolling through my suggested connections, and wondering if I'll ever be back on the same playing field as the people I met in D.C., through somewhat prestigious internships, or at my well-ranked college and elitist private high school. Looking through the sea of impressive job titles makes me feel like I'm falling behind in an epic game of "Life." It's as if, while all my connections pulled cards for Tudors and Victorians, I got shafted with the Split-Level; they were choosing from good hands - jobs like Accountant and Doctor -, while I had to whittle my choice of the Artist card down from among baser professions.
The truth of the matter is that I have a lovely Colonial, and that the Artist card is one that I chose of my own volition.
And here's the other thing: when I'm not comparing myself to the people on LinkedIn, I know just how blessed I am to have the opportunity to live and explore this far-fetched dream. That's why I've decided to put a moratorium on LinkedIn, because I won't want to be envious of my friends, or to feel badly about not having a tidy and impressive description to put beside my name. "Writer" is good enough for me, though I think the word by itself falls short, as most words on their own do. It certainly comes shy of explaining the joy and satisfaction that result from immortalizing an experience, and creating a permanent testament to all the things and people that once moved simple, human me.
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