Surely there are nuances I can add to enrich this description, but the arc of a typical workday flows something like this: clock in, pithy comment, keep my head down, produce, clock out. Then, on certain evenings–most evenings as of late, to be honest–I log onto Xbox LIVE around 10 PM and find many of the same people I see in the office, only they’ve assumed their digital personas. What follows is a typical weeknight: clock in, pithy comment, keep my head down behind cover, shoot, reload, clock out.
A few weeks ago, I told you how things had changed. My predilection for private gaming has shifted, improbably, to social gaming and all the benefits and travails attendant to it. I’m not completely sold on the concept. On Monday night, for example, I made the mistake of forgetting to mute players not on my Friends List and was promptly treated to the sounds of prepubescent shrieking and coughing from what must’ve been a 12-year-old boy. But when you’re online with people you know, the resulting moments can be absolutely spectacular, far outpacing any kind of scripted code committed to disc.
I’ve also realized the reason for my increased sociability, both online and off. Part of it is because of increased capacity. More importantly, though, I’ve been spending my social points judiciously. Did you know it’s far less draining to interact with people you like? Imagine that. These are uncharted waters, dark and tempestuous, with promise brewing just below the surface, which reminds me. Note to self: don’t forget to pick up the new Uncharted.
“Ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night,” penned Rilke, “Must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if the answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple ‘I must,’ then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.”
That’s from the first letter in the book I’ve been reading. Eight letters later, with only two left in the hopper, I’m in the homestretch, but the last few pages are a doozy. In truth, only the passage above really stuck with me, and I’ve asked myself that very question in the past. I’ve also asked a corollary question: “Must I read?” And the answer to that one was most assuredly “I must not read.”
For the query proper, though, the answer has always been in the affirmative. But my reasons, as you may recall from our past discussions, have been far less noble than Rilke would’ve preferred. He spoke of writing almost as a sentient entity to which you may or may not declare lifelong fealty. I subscribe to a far more mercenary view of words, where I appreciate their results–their capacity to persuade, to mend, to entertain, to reshape, to break. If it turns out that Rilke’s been right all along, however, then I may be due for a reckoning.
Even though I never mark my calendar with reminders about Daylight Saving, whether coming or going, word of these important dates always seems to arrive a couple days in advance, narrowly averting disaster in the process. You know exactly what I’m talking about: that fear of showing up precisely one hour early to work. But this has never happened to me, and I think it’s because people like telling you that you need to set your clock back.
To set our clocks back. I couldn’t think of a more–wait for it–timely phrase. You may recall the grim missive from last week, in which I chronicled a reversion to my old ways. There’s been chatter this week of a triple dip for the housing market, too, and I honestly didn’t even know we had a second dip, or that we ever climbed out of it. We are going backwards in time.
And that feeling of losing my compass is still there, crouched in the background. It was particularly poignant at 3:47 AM on Saturday morning when I was groggily finishing up Batman and wondering when exactly my weekend took such a wrong fuckin’ turn. But then it dawned on me today that the new self I’ve been cultivating is still there. I’ve got my new skills, new capacities, new acquaintances, and new wardrobe. Maybe it’s not a question of finding my old compass, but building a new one.