fixated on writing

why I am betting on writing, culture, and people despite the trends

An Indian stamp from 1966 (Wikimedia Commons)

I do not have statistics to show you, to explain why I am betting on writing, on literature, on art. I will not point you to charts indicating macro trends in attention spans. I will instead rub your cheeks and cup your face, and tell you that I promise tomorrow we will keep each other company. We will swap stories about the times we were bullied as children and laugh in hindsight.

I do not have an analysis to show you, to explain why I am betting on people, on feelings, on culture. I will instead share this picture I took at an event in San Francisco where journalists Ezra Klein and Derek Thompson spoke about their new project, Abundance.

A sold-out audience at the Sydney Goldstein Theater in San Francisco

What I saw at the event was nearly one thousand people, on a Wednesday evening, who sat mostly still with phones kept away and listened to an hour-long policy conversation. There was no music or visual attraction, just language. We listened to Ezra, Derek, and Manny tell stories and propose solutions to America’s biggest problems.

I do worry about your and my fractured and frenetic attention. At this precise moment I am channeling multiple streams of thought. I am making lists on Notes, checking Slack, and responding to Whatsapp messages all within seconds. It takes me more than twenty-five minutes of writing to feel focused. My brain is scrambled and my thinking unclear. I go for a run without headphones, and I use that time to label and sort each thought and return home with a fog lifted.

I am aware that in high school I could sit and solve math problems for forty-five minutes. I could read for more than an hour. I am, in fact, training myself to return to a wide span of focus. I am not so sure others are doing the same. I notice how conversations with some friends ping pong. I see family who twitch, itching to check their phone in case there is a so-called emergency. I know there is a risk to betting on long-form. I know there is a risk to betting on literature. This is not the direction in which the world is trending, says a person more practical than I. But long-form is what I need, and I wager it is what you need as well.

Last week I read a pleasant essay on making heavy things. More than 600 people liked it. I think many of us want slowness and heaviness. We want local produce and tailor-made clothing. We want hand-written letters and spaces that feel rich with relationship. We want to feel the presence of another so much so that they knock us off our feet. Slow does not mean incomplete or lazy, just as the weight of an idea is not indicated in its volume or size.

Will anyone read what I have to write? Why am I so fixated on writing? I studied art in college, and I was a visual artist for several years yet I have always returned to writing. Between you and me, I think writing is my vocation. I enjoy product design and research, but when I am crafting an essay, a story, a speech, or a poem, I feel I am doing what I was born to do. I am finally fixated on writing, I could say.

I know there is a risk to betting on long-form. I know there is a risk to betting on literature… But long-form is certainly what I need, and I wager it is what you need as well.

is writing what the world needs?

I live in San Francisco, I read the news, and I work in technology. If I am certain of anything at all it is that the world needs more knowledge, more wisdom, more awareness, more openness, more understanding between people, more gentleness, more softness, more creativity, more courage, more thoughtfulness, more attentiveness, more vigilance, more presence, more generosity, more pleasure, more beauty, more humility, more emotion, more concern, more forgiveness, more humor, more warmth, and more honesty. And I am certain, as certain as gravity or a mother’s love, that writing and literature delivers. So yes, the world needs my writing so long as I am writing about what matters. I promise you, dear reader, that I will remain serious about my research and precise in my language so that I may write intelligently about what matters. I promise you, dear reader, to step outside my front door in search of heaviness, so that when I do come across what matters and what does not, I have the wisdom to know the difference.