At a certain point in 2010 I got tired (and Caroline got really tired) of hearing myself whine about how the Internet was co-opting my mind. So one simple resolution for this coming year is to stop complaining about Internet (and technology in general) like it’s an unstoppable force bound to shape my life in unavoidably negative ways. I’ve written a short essay, appearing today at The Millions, that explains further:
The Internet is just a thing that sits on my desk, if it sits anywhere at all. If I close the lid of my laptop, it can’t get me. If I walk outside it, can’t follow me. Blaming the Internet for the novel I didn’t write is a little like blaming a plush sofa for the marathon I didn’t run. Sure, the couch gave me a comfy place to hide while I was busy not being the man I want to be, but it’s hardly the cause of my problems. Replace the couch with a straw mat and suddenly I’ll run 26 miles? I doubt it. Scuttle the Internet and suddenly I’ll be the writer I’ve always dreamed of being? Hardly.