In our current age, saturated with content, noise, and overlapping voices, why is there an incessant pressure to be prolific?
If consumption is the thing forced upon us, if it is the driver of economic growth, is production our only means of escape? Or is production — of thought, of media, of technology — a sacrifice made at the altar of capitalism?
In 2021, with a month off in between jobs, I found myself the creator of a new Wix blog, one dedicated to reviewing the hours of entertainment I was intent on consuming. My boyfriend at the time was very supportive.
“I just feel like I watch so much TV and I’m just taking from the world. I’m not giving anything back, you know?”
“Well I think it’s a great idea and you should do it.”
That relationship didn’t last. Neither did the movie blog.
While the exact URL would need to be waterboarded out of me, I am willing to share the following:
There’s nothing like looking back at old content you’ve produced; simultaneously crying from nostalgia and cringing from embarrassment.
I’m not a writer. Never have been, never wanted to be. The last time writing had brought me any real pleasure was in elementary school, when my sister and I shared a black-and-white composition notebook (you know the one), trading chapters in a story we would never finish.
Writing was for exams and college applications. It was for product briefs and easy-to-skim emails. It wasn’t something I devoted time to. In hindsight, it makes sense that this movie blog didn’t survive past my one month of unemployment and five <500 word entries.
So while my boyfriend at the time failed to recognize the enormity of maintaining a movie blog for me, I did not. I was scared.
My therapist always asks me: what is behind the fear? What are you afraid of?
Here’s a list:
Celine Nguyen says writing is inherently a dignified human activity, that people who consume want to create. My reaction? “Uhhh, not for me !”
Why would I want to create when there are so many more creative, talented, and technically gifted people already doing so? What could I possibly contribute to the collective discourse that hasn’t already been said, been filmed, been sketched?
But if the point of producing content isn’t for it to be consumed, but for the producer to gain some sort of personal satisfaction? Personal fulfillment?
Then aren’t we just talking about a public journal? One that I can sheepishly forward to a few close friends and say “Look! Look! I promise all that TV watching, scrolling, reading, yapping, and consuming wasn’t wasted!”