Saturday, 17 September 2022

self-directed therapy or something, re: categorizing identity; self 'marketing'

(It's somewhat ironic that I decided to write this up in the Blogspot composer, after just now setting up a Substack account. Old habits are hard to beat I guess, it's possible that I've been fully conditioned at this point to only be able to have a semi-congruent flow of thoughts in this interface).

Anyway, something I've been thinking about over the last few years is the recently popularized concept of a 'personal brand' and especially how to portray and categorize the various facets of one's interests over the internet.

As the footprint of my various 'content' has grown through the years, I haven't been particularly mindful of the various crumbs I've left of my old internet accounts, whether it be digital art, writing, forum posts, and so on, across the web. This is probably something that is beginning to affect a lot of people my age, as the internet has aged and there are a surprising number of 'old school' sites that have proved rather longevous (I say 'my age' because my hypothesis is that people in this group grew up with an internet that was not as mature or curated, and may have been more likely to have been part of a range of various discrete web communities -- as opposed to those who are a bit younger, who perhaps grew up with dominant social networks where almost everyone left some sort of trace or presented some version of a whole 'authentic self' in one account). I know the former to at least be anecdotally true, because I have done my fair share of internet stalking where finding out someone's internet alias and googling it has revealed a slew of other accounts and posts under a huge range of various websites (...I also have a significant cringe feeling associated with the nightmarish thought of some past forgotten account being able to be tied to me in the present if someone were to look hard enough).

I've been thinking about this more as 'content creation' and the concept of the Micro Influencer has turned into an Actually Viable Way To Make Money in the last few years. There is a lot of conventional wisdom in the Industry now that suggests curating content in a way that 'makes sense' to some specific, niche audience: to curate a certain type of Instagram Feed, write a certain form of Twitter thread or, indeed, select topics for a Substack newsletter. What's more is that usually, there is an expectation that the creator present themselves as their true identity; it's not uncommon for niche Influencers to eventually transition into generic lifestyle content or start alternative channels for their other hobbies. It's not always clear how much of this is to lean back into the presentation of a more Authentic Self, versus expanding a business to capture another audience though -- it's probably usually some mixture of both.

I see this as a version of what we saw a few years ago as more established professionals expanded their internet presence for career purposes and were being coached on how to develop a 'personal brand'. This has always felt somewhat contrived to me, as I've seen that Americans especially tend to want to present the same version of the Self in all parts of their lives, and one's Authentic Self is likely too nuanced and complex to be able to be presented in a neat Personal Brand 'package' on some minimalist interface for someone to skim over in 0.3s on some splash page or social media bio, so like... how?

I am neither very organized nor very interested in becoming an Influencer, and certainly not good at drawing such boundaries between different parts of my life. I tend to hop from one interest to he next quite quickly, making my Instagram feed not very aesthetic in its holistic view (shock horror). This would normally not be a problem, except that I've been finding that as people around me consume more micro-influencer content, the more they are used to the pattern, and the more confusing it can be to look at a blog or a feed or, even at a higher level, internet footprint like mine. The impact has been that I've progressively shied away more from the internet as a form of self expression or even just sharing about my life, because I don't feel I'm able to present it in a way that 'makes sense' to the viewer. I even have more than one Instagram account for different content, because I didn't want to spam my 'normal friends' with lots of content around some niche hobby I was getting into.

On the topic of writing, a question that I've struggled with for as long as I've been putting words on the internet, is "do I want someone to read this? If so, whom, and how can I isolate that audience? And if not, why am I even publishing it on the internet?"

As I was writing this out, I realized a couple things about how I think about the answer to this. Firstly, the recognition that there are several distinct types of writing that I've published on the internet over the years: (1) research based articles or knowledge sharing,
(2) creative writing, and
(3) random streams of consciousness and personal thoughts

For (1), since this is the most obvious type of content that I'd want people to read, I will try the most hard to find some audience for these sorts of writing, historically by publishing on a Serious Platform (like Medium) and sharing over something like Twitter. I'll also go through quite a lot of editing, which I don't do for the vast majority of things I post on these blogs like (2) and (3). 

For (2), I just write creatively for fun, but sometimes it actually turns out kind of cool and I'm actually pretty happy with it and feel at least lukewarm about sharing (even with people I know), but still feel kind of sheepish about it. I guess sharing creative writing is kind of like sharing art though, which is always kind of nerve wracking. But part of is it that I also feel way less experienced in creative writing than visual art, to the point where I'm mostly not sure if what I wrote and liked is actually Good or not, so I don't feel as comfortable sharing I guess? Also, when juxtaposed with (1), I feel that consumption of creative writing is more up to personal taste and 'leisure' / 'enjoyment', and I feel much worse about taking up someone's leisure time with something they won't enjoy, compared to simply delivering information (although I know that in recent years, presentation of information can also be polarizing... however I feel that seeking the truth through data is a much less controversial positive use of time than consuming potentially bad art, so I suppose I've projected that belief onto how I think others should use their time too).

For (3), if I'm honest, a lot of the time, I do want someone to read it (though honestly I can't really explain why), but I want that someone to be a stranger in my real life. Maybe it's some part of my personal anxieties, like I don't want people close to me to know so much about what goes in my weird head because I'm afraid they'll judge me, or because I want them to find out about that weird part of me through direct personal interactions and a built relationship, so that they don't end up knowing way more about me than I know about them. 

I also write and publish online because I know I'll read it sometime in the future, and this was the laziest form of cloud based storage that existed back when I started (I will probably be quite sad if Blogspot ever disappears). Certainly, there have been writings I've posted on self-hosted blogs that have disappeared into the ether that I regret a little (my chocolate croissant reviews -- probably lost forever???).

But also, outside of all of this, I haven't felt that there is a comfortable way to present 'all parts of myself' on some internet platform 'authentically'. There's a reason I post (1) type articles not on my blog but in some other More Serious Spaces. Although, I suppose this is probably just a problem with Life On Earth too, and the fact that the internet is so public and feels so permanent exacerbates certain insecurities I have, especially now that everything on the internet feels like it's so closely tied to our Real Identities. Maybe I just miss the times where I could log on as RandomUsername23418 to some niche forum and just partake in conversation about niche thing without having to explain it to anyone in my real life. Nowadays in my real life people know I use Reddit and ask about what subreddits I like.

So that's all just to say, if I were to post this onto Substack, which I had originally intended to do since I wanted to play around with the platform, it would probably be 'good' to do another pass of it and edit it a bit to make it more congruous and make it actually make more sense than a random stream of consciousness at least*, but also, I don't think I care enough right now / am too lazy / I don't think anyone will read it anyway so... YOLO?

*also I think I actually have some more thoughts about this topic (probably like... quarter baked, unlike this half baked stream of consciousness), but maybe I'll save it for another time when I feel randomly inspired to write again

Monday, 6 June 2022

The Fifth

May melted,
refroze,
and melted again;
a feverish freezer burn whiplash

a month of paradox
going places to go no where
doing nothing yet things happening
cold to hot to cold to hot
from sitting still in the sky for days

no maypole celebrations here
only blood
red maple leaves falling
red stripes sliding
halfway down

tears to be erased by alcohol wipes
smell of sanitizer in the news;
they are trying to make things look positive

but early blooms cut short are an omen
pollen scattered instead of rain
the only thing I could breathe
other than winter sand, chalk,
and dust from my unfinished bathroom

On June fifth I am still
positive

Friday, 18 March 2022

Some distinct Cheddar thoughts I wrote to cope

I had never been 100% sure about adopting a dog. Despite my frequent browsing of rescue websites and gushing over other people's cute pets at coffee shops, when it came down to thinking about how a dog would fit into my own life, there had always been some reservations. How much less freedom would I have to travel? How much earlier would I have to wake up to fit morning walks into my schedule? How would I deal with unpleasant necessities like picking up poop off the sidewalk, dust and dirt in the house, or training accidents?

Even after actually adopting a dog at the beginning of the pandemic in 2020, part of me didn't realize it had become real. Sitting in the meet-and-greet room at Family Dog Rescue, looking at his furry face smiling nervously up at me, I felt a little outside of my own body as we signed the papers. 

But here I am, two years later, eyes red from tears at the prospect of saying goodbye to Cheddar. It is the saddest thing I've had to do in my life. 

It's not like we didn't know it was coming. If anything, our relationship with Cheddar has always been colored by the looming inevitability of death in the background, almost from the very beginning. There was a period in the first few weeks where Alex and I did not simply have the puppy blues, but legitimately were thinking about giving Cheddar back to the shelter because we didn't want to become hospice care for our first dog. The shelter owner even told us that they would understand if we wanted to return him, since a dog with cancer is a lot to handle for first time dog parents. Yet somehow, he stayed in our lives. 

---

Cheddar is a dog of routine and never much enjoyed surprises. Even when we tried to do something nice for him, like bring him over to Christmas dinner, or take him on a road trip with us, or take him out to dinner where he sat underneath us on the patio, you would get the sense that he might prefer to just be at home. Sometimes you'd even feel a bit bad for trying to do something special for him.

When we'd try to make him a special dinner or a special treat, he'd chomp it down greedily and then look at you with a Very Serious Face. As if trying to suss out whether there was more to be had, and how he could get it -- there was never any happy appreciation. And then worst of all, you'd both slightly regret it several hours later when he was grumbling because his digestive tract was unhappy.

Cheddar was a street dog for a while before he got rescued. You could tell because he was never snobby about food. People are always amazed when we tell them he eats anything: salad, broccoli, bitter melon, kimchi... the only things we figured out that he wasn't really a fan of was citrus, basil, and coffee. In the beginning, he was particularly extremely interested in whatever scraps of food we came across on the street (it took a while for us to teach him 'no', and it got a little better after that). Once, he desperately bit a bucket that had a hamburger bun in it when the bun itself was definitely out of reach. He made us work on our food-spotting and kicking-food-away reflexes, but more importantly, he made us laugh a lot.

He'd look pathetically at you when you tried to get him interested in any toy that wasn't food-related in some way. Like, "what am I supposed to do with this?". It took me about four months to teach him to pick up a tennis ball and bring it to me. And then, he'd only do it about half the time when he knew I had treats. He would also sassily make a "bleh" face after dropping the tennis ball, as if to say, "this thing doesn't belong in my mouth. it's seriously not edible."

He wasn't very interested in the other dogs at the park, although every now and then there would be a new dog that piqued his interest. The other dogs seemed to sense that he wasn't really down to play and that he was pretty easygoing too, most of them tended to ignore this old man, and others tried to assert dominance and hump him. Cheddar would sit down acceptingly and let them do their thing.

Cheddar much preferred instead to stay near the humans; that's where the pets and treats came from. Once, he was sitting too close to another dog while they were both begging for treats, and the other dog snapped at him. Cheddar got a bit scared to beg for treats after that for a few days, but he was back at it soon enough.

He would get zoomies after having a bath. While being washed, he'd look meek, small -- the water pushed his puffy coat down on his frame, and he'd look at you with his wide eyes and mouth small, like he was holding in all his feelings. But afterwards, he'd sprint up and down the hallway, the fastest he could run -- he'd then sploot down on the rugs on either end and aggressively rub himself into the ground. He seemed happy doing this.

He grumbled when he was displeased, like an old man huffing with slight discontent. Like when you made him do a trick, and then he did it, and then realized you didn't have any treats.

When he was actually impatient, like when a chicken had been roasting in the oven for an hour, he'd sit himself right by the door, whining and chomping the air, to let us know exactly what he was after. He would be in a chicken craze all night after that, and the more we gave him, the more worked up he'd get.

Cheddar always gave everything a go. Even when he was scared of stairs, he'd try to climb them if we asked him to. 

Cheddar was good at being constant too. He was there on the red day of September 2020. He was there when we got married over video call with city hall. He was always there by your side, even when it was annoying. He just wanted to be close to you, which is quite a virtue too.

---

The guilt and absurdities associated with having a terminally ill pet include little thoughts like: 

When should I order new pills? If the vet prescribed only five refills for these painkillers, does that mean she expects Cheddar will die by the time the final refill is consumed? From extrapolating the number of pills we're feeing him per day, that means the vet's expected prognosis is <xyz> weeks...

We can plan a trip <X> months away; I suppose Cheddar will not be around by then.

Will we have to buy another bag of dog food, or will he be gone before he finishes this one? 

(every time I leave the house to do something) Should I be staying home instead to spend more time with Cheddar before he dies?

I guess there is no point taking him in for another regular exam / taking him in for vaccine renewal / giving him the anti parasite meds this month since he can barely walk / doesn't meet other dogs /  whatever new might be wrong with him probably won't kill him faster than the cancer will...

(Walking past) He is lying very still... Better make sure he is still breathing. (stands around to observe his chest for a while longer) .. ok, he is still alive.

Is this the last time <a somewhat regular visitor> is going to see Cheddar?

Is this the last time Cheddar is going to be at <a somewhat regular spot>?

(every time a part of his body clicks when we are moving him) Oh no did I break something?

This is the last Wednesday Cheddar will experience.

---

Cheddar crossed the rainbow bridge peacefully at home today. We went on some long walks, took some photos, and hung out in the sun at some of his favorite spots over the last couple days. He has been having some rough nights; he must have been battling with a lot of pain and anxiety due to his body not doing what he wanted anymore... Letting him go felt like the right thing to do, although it is the most painful thing I have had to do in my life.

The house is so quiet without him, although it is still littered with all of his things. I am so grateful that he made his way into our lives and we were able to spend the last two years with him. What have I learned from living with Cheddar?

Things just happen in life, and it's really up to you how you deal with them. 

Appreciate the little things, enjoy the goings on in the neighborhood.

Always greet others with a positive attitude.

People like to see that you're trying hard and making an effort, even if you're not much good at what you're trying to do.

Ask for what you want or need, or try your darnedest to get it yourself.

Living with Cheddar made my heart bigger.