Let's (Not) Have A National Conversation.

The age of the Internet has given us many things. Cats adorned with hilariously misspelled captions. Videos of large groups of people doing things in places. But for the intelligentsia (Internetelligentsia?), perhaps the most important gift of the Internet has been The Conversation.

The Conversation is the stream of thought that dominates the blogs, magazines, and social media feeds that well-educated peeps with literary leanings go to for their constant word-fix.

The structure of The Conversation is simple:

1. Event happens / thing is written. (We’ll call this Item #1).
2. Witty response / “thinkpiece” on Item #1 is written.
3. Everyone who deems themselves a “thought leader” is compelled to spend the next week pushing out their incredibly important thoughts about Item #1, regardless of whether or not Item #1 matters to them.
4. Item #1 is then promptly discarded in favor of a newer Item, but will later be an important bullet point on a list of yearly things that were important during the year.

This isn’t an entirely new phenomenon. Literary-types have been engaging in back-and-forth on a variety of topics for centuries. What the Internet has really done is to crank up the speed, and add a heaping measure of absurdity. The absurdity, in most cases, is a direct result of the speed. Because The Conversation picks up momentum so quickly, no one really has time to ponder whether or not it has a speck of importance. And in a world where the barriers between high and low culture have been rent asunder, it’s increasingly common for the stuff of tabloid gossip to become important topics in the pages of The New Yorker.

Thus, when Miley Cyrus does something icky, we must endure “responses” to it from every possible political and cultural angle. Want to learn about the gender politics / racial politics / theology of a mildly-talented singer doing something mildly offensive? Then congratulations: the Internet shall embrace you to its scantily-clad bosom.

Of course, The Conversation can be about many things. It can be about a political “scandal” that many people don’t believe is significant in any way, but who will kindly contribute lengthy pages about what it means that other people consider it significant, and how significant this is. It can be about a crime that is deemed far worse than a hundred identical crimes that occurred on the same day, and is believed to say something about society. (And race. And gender. And man’s relationship with the Divine Unknown.)

It can even be about something that is deep, or troubling, or of great political importance. But that’s not the point; The Conversation’s appeal has little do with the current Item's significance.

People join The Conversation because other people have already joined The Conversation. That’s it. It can be about something of vital importance. It can be about something so idiotic that most people would simply shrug it off. But shrugging off The Conversation is something that simply isn’t done in nicer circles. To be outside The Conversation is to be irrelevant. If you’re a writer who writes on a regular basis, and you refuse to write something about that thing that other people are writing about, it’s like you don’t even exist. You might as well toss your ambitions out the window, and resign yourself to a life of cheap beer, televised sports, and crippling depression.

My suspicion is that many people don’t enjoy staying afloat in the ceaseless tide of The Conversation. Maybe they’re just looking for some way out. Some kind of permission to leave, and explore the world at their own pace.

Very well then:

If you’re someone who writes things, and you’re looking for a way out of this endless cycle of meaningless paragraphs, I’ll offer one. Go forth with my blessing, child. Ignore The Conversation, unless it’s a conversation you actually want to have. Unless it’s a conversation you need to have. If it isn’t worth responding to, don’t respond to it. Don’t be afraid to look for meaning in the quiet nooks that other people are ignoring while they attempt to listen in on what other people are already talking about.

Free thyself, O blogosphere. And ye, O Twitterverse, fly far into lands yet unseen. And this peace I offer even unto the realm of Google +, though I know it not.

Go forth.