[Sarah Shapiro, noted Orthodox writer and daughter of literary icon Norman Cousins, would be a welcome permanent addition to Cross-Currents if I can finally talk her into it - YA - Updated Apr. 29 to attribute this article to our newest Contributor...]
A big writer’s block showed up one day and settled down right in front of my laptop. Generally speaking, I try to ignore this phenomenon. My philosophy is: don’t say its name out loud, since that affirms its reality and encourages it to stay. You’re better off preserving its illusory cloud-like status as a passing figment of the imagination, like an ice floe that will drift off to sea if you keep looking the other way.
But months were going by and it wasn’t drifting off. Since I’d grown accustomed over the years to the glow of the computer screen, I continued showing up for “work” each morning at my desk, and continued exercising my civic duty (as I had since the start of the Democratic primaries) keeping track online of the ongoing American Presidential campaign. Attacks and counter-attacks, prophecies and predictions, polls, blogs, bulletins, headlines, breaking news and shaking news, updates and pundits and Op-Eds…a lot of words all over the place. But none of them were mine, and it was getting scary. Silence such as this scares anyone who depends on writing to convince himself (or of course, herself) that he (or of course she) has value. And given the fact that vast regions of many writers’ left brains have been known to turn out the lights and simply shut down, sometimes remaining vacant for decades as the right brains sit around stringing sentences together, what would I do with myself if I never wrote again?
In the past, I’d been comforted at such junctures by the reply of the 1930s artist Kathe Kollwitz, who upon being asked if she ever had intervals in which she was unable to draw, declared: “Of course I do! Doesn’t the land have to lie fallow sometimes?”
On this occasion, however, the silence was getting to seem less cloudlike, or ice-floe-like, and more ice-berg-like.
This situation went on for I don’t know how long – probably all the way from New Hampshire to Iowa and back around to Texas. The Republican Vice-Presidential nominee was getting me nervous; I had to keep an eye on her. Hilary Clinton and Obama were also keeping me up at night. To make a long story short, it was a very big writing block.
Finally Obama was elected and the news began leveling out. But even though it was no longer my responsibility to monitor events every hour on the hour, my brain had been formatted, somewhere along the line, for computer compatibility. The medium had indeed become the message, and my neural pathways seemed to have merged, structurally speaking, with those of the Internet. “Only connect!” was one of the 20th century’s best-known mottos, and passive surfing had, without my realizing it, afforded me a connection with my fellow man (and with many famous celebrities) minus all the bother and fuss of dealing with human nature, mine or other people’s.
I felt a little lost, almost as if I were…Well, it wasn’t that bad.
But it was. With fear and surprise, I realized – no joke — that I was addicted. Not so much to the news itself, perhaps, as to the medium: the flicker, the flash, the zip, the zoom, the interactive this and interactive that, the cursor flying around the globe at the whim of my Touch-Pad. Like a moth drawn involuntarily to a warm, bright lamp, the soul’s instinctual desire to grope its way back to the original primordial light had been perversely transformed. I’d always congratulated myself on television’s absence from our home, and from all Orthodox Jewish homes, but there’s something about the nature of Internet — passivity in the garb of activity — which makes its warmth and brightness exponentially more addictive than TV.
It is a cliché that any phenomenon in Creation can of course be put to use by either the yetzer ha tov or the yetzer ha ra, so the power of the Internet, like any other invention to have affected the course of history for good and for ill, is currently used for mankind’s great benefit as well as our destruction. An obvious example is its use by Torah organizations to reach Jews around the world, whereby we see one of the harbingers of the Messianic Era, when “knowledge of G-d will fill the earth.” Yet if left to its own devices in an individual’s daily schedule, the medium tends naturally to take him for a comfortable ride elsewhere in cyberspace, coasting and surfing on the endlessly incoming wave of external events and entertainments, losing track of time, producing the illusion in the brain of movement, change, growth, travel, creativity, companionship, communication, and becoming a substitute for the full living of one’s life.
In my case, this process was accompanied by classic symptoms of addiction, such as startling from embarrassment when family members found me online, and gravitating like a sleepwalker towards the luminous screen in the middle of the night.
Withdrawal was slow and painful. As echoes of the campaign died down and piles upon piles of garbage were being carted out (though some will surely remain in my brain for eternal recycling) I felt empty. Without minute-by-minute news of Joe and Hilary and Sarah Palin and Barack, I was a lonely soul adrift in space, thrown back into my inner nothingness.
But the nothingness, emptiness, and darkness in an individual’s life serve in microcosm as the necessary tohu and vohu that preceded the Creation of the world. One by one, like mute lambs coming back home, little words started to appear, some of which were mine.
Whereupon my soul stirred, and opened her eyes.
All of which just goes to show: if you, too, have become addicted to the screen, you, too, can recover, and reclaim your thoughts, and go on doing whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing with your fast-diminishing minutes and hours and days.