The Monotonous Fever Dream of the Internet

And some timeless wisdom to wake us up.

For the last two months, I’ve deleted nearly every article that arrives in my inbox—ones that I would previously have enjoyed, or at least gathered useful information from. I have felt a smoldering unease with internet culture lately, exhausted by the endless stream of people trying to sell me products, convince me to adopt their opinions, or offer a fleeting sense of certitude. As it turns out, this sentiment is shared with others, and

Alex Olshonsky

of

Deep Fix

describes them aptly in his most recent piece, “When Internet Life Feels Futile”. After reading this, for the first time in weeks, I felt satisfied, like I had just consumed something of actual value. Olshonsky writes cleanly and honestly about the creeping weariness that many, it seems, are experiencing toward the onslaught of disembodied voices in our ears and on our screens.

Here’s Olshonsky: “I’m not alone in feeling like our entire online world…has become a clusterfuck of nonsense. Even more so than it already was.” The futility of most of the online world, as he says, is akin to “drown[ing] in unpolished mind-chatter starved of wisdom, yet served right on time, whatever the arbitrary marketing cadence may be…”

He goes on to offer one of his responses to this weariness: nondual meditation, an awareness practice that does not rely on thought. “To put it as simply as possible, non-conceptual awareness is when you separate awareness from thinking, which the Buddhists considered to be the sixth sense. Then, without the overlay of labels and judgments, you can directly experience the Deep Now as it is. The benefit of “stepping back” in this way is that you very quickly see that thoughts and emotions are not the center of who you are. Rather, you reside in an awake awareness…retiring the meaning-making mind that veils the radiance of existence.”

As this piece implicitly suggests, stepping back to observe the internet may be a practice that serves us better than tangling ourselves in it.

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We consume so much content every day, much of which is regurgitated and half-assed. Many online creators have become homogenized, and even heterodox thinkers have become somewhat predictable: the hot takes they continue to churn out are lukewarm at best. Or else, creators succumb to audience capture, pandering to what they think their audience wants to hear, and losing sight of their morals or individuality.

During periods of feeling deeply dissatisfied and uninspired by the monotonous fever dream of the internet, what I do not want or need is new content. In fact, in these moments, I tend to seek out and find solace in established wisdom—the kind that has shown itself, over time, to be timeless. I don’t need to listen to another random influencer (self-diagnosed expert or not) give a tip about how to “navigate” the craziness of the world, or what we should be thinking, doing, or caring about. Instead, I want to pick up The Untethered Soul, fall asleep to Ram Dass lectures, and listen to what the philosophers and the yogis have to say. I want to hear from the person who has been quietly practicing meditation or Tai Chi for the last three decades; who has actually been living their practices. I want to learn from people who have devoted their lives to contemplating the great questions of life: how to live well, how to suffer less, how to go about realizing our greatest potential.

Many people who live this way, unsurprisingly, continue to arrive at many of the same conclusions as their predecessors. Their advice might sound something like: Relax and let go. Remember compassion. Practice noticing your thoughts. Let go of inner disturbances, and watch your external world change. Have some fun, it’s all a game.

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The teachers and creators I am still interested in aren’t overly critical of the world or the people who live here. They don’t rely on assumed moral superiority, masquerading as self-awareness, to communicate their goodness. They aren’t worried about padding the lining of their art with trigger warnings, nor are they solely trying to piss off “the other side.”

The people I find worth listening to have remained in their integrity: they haven’t sold out, or veered down a course that doesn’t line up with who they are. They aren’t trying to shove anything down your throat, or even asking you to take a bite—they are people who appear to be doing things they want to be doing, and living lives that, for the most part, they enjoy living. The flavor that I continue to enjoy tasting is simple, grounded authenticity; a kind of integrity that doesn’t get old.

As many great spiritual teachers would remind us (and any therapist worth their salt), focus on what you have the power to change, and let the rest go, again and again. Practice being yourself, and pay attention to what feels good and right: this is what actually matters in terms of the impact you have on the world around you.

It might be time to unsubscribe to anything in your inbox that doesn’t feel valuable, and to unfollow whom you are uninterested in hearing from. Make some room. Then, pick up an old book, turn on a favorite movie, go outside barefoot, and pay attention to your breath. That might be all you really need to do, anyways.

Maggie