Content Frustration

People are just people, whom you don’t have to listen to.

Every so often, I’ll go on a podcast-starting spree to sample different flavors. Most recently when I did this, and listened to the first segments of a few new ones, I found myself becoming increasingly frustrated with the stream of moderately known people talk about something I wasn’t interested in. To be fair, it was probably my mood. Even still, everything felt tired and forced; I listened for thirty minutes to someone who is famous for being attractive tell me their “relationship advice” and what products they use in their hair.

Why am I listening to these random people tell me their opinions? Why do I care? Why am I letting them take up space in my brain?

Of course, it isn’t their fault—they’re allowed to do their own thing. Everyone is allowed to share their opinions and their art, and to make a damn podcast, even if it’s just to hear the sound of their own voice.¹ I’m the one who can choose to listen, and the one who can choose to turn it off.

But just because you can listen, or read, or engage, doesn’t mean you actually want to or should. It’s easy to forget your own agency and become frustrated by things that you can actually change. Like, what you choose to listen to, watch, or read.

My recent attitude toward the internet the past six months or so has been one of supreme indifference and irritation. A sense of wanting something else, but not knowing what that is. I’m not satisfied with what “the feed” is serving me, I haven’t felt like reading anything for a while, and I can barely bring myself to stare at my phone until I fall asleep; that’s how boring the incessant tide of people doing things to try to get more views and generate engagement feels. It seems like everyone needs to chime in to say the same things in different ways, or different things in the same ways, and thus most of what I come across feels…regurgitated. Exaggerated. Boring. (Or literally is just wrong information.)

I can certainly recognize the pretentiousness and judgment in what I’m saying. I can also recognize the pretentiousness in my unchecked expectations about what the internet and the broader culture “should” be serving me: the notion that I deserve to be constantly entertained, satisfied, and shown interesting ideas all the time as I desire them is beyond absurd and self-involved. And yet, I think it’s an attitude easily slipped into and shared by many of us; a delusional entitlement that we should have access to what we want and need, now. This extends into the idea that the people we listen to, read, or watch, are the ones responsible for serving us what we want or need. When I find myself caught in this mindset, I try to remember that every person is just a person.

All work can be important and add value to the world. Some work is just more visible to the public eye; some work is classified as more important, useful, or entertaining. It’s easy to elevate people who work in some form of media, simply because of the nature of its public accessibility. The people behind “important” or public work, however, are still just people: just because they acted in an amazing movie, are really funny, or can take artsy photos, doesn’t mean you need to listen to their opinions (or their podcast). And, isn’t it crazy that we have access to their opinions—to anyone’s social commentary at large?

Isn’t it crazy how what we see, hear, or read in the media—whether we come across it accidentally or intentionally—can find its way into our individual and collective consciousness, and affect our thoughts and decisions? This is enough to drive some people to take drastic action to lessen the effects of the internet and media on their psyche, like permanently deleting profiles or trying to live off the grid. I don’t think, however, that this works for most people. We’ve got to be able to engage with media in a relatively balanced, healthy and nuanced way. People are just people, whom you don’t have to listen to, and no one is any better or worse because of their visibility in the public eye.

. .

So, I guess what I’m chiming in to say is that what you choose to engage with really does matter. What we consume—and create—is how we get anywhere better or worse, individually and collectively.

Perhaps this wave of dissatisfaction with the content that’s been circulating my narrow slice of the world will turn in the new year. Maybe I’ll find different people to listen to and read to entertain me. Or not. Maybe I’ll just keep reminding myself that everyone is just a person.

Maggie

1. Does reality TV increasingly feel like a method for contestants to grow their Instagram following and start a podcast? Tell me I’m wrong, but it feels even more contrived and premeditated than usual.