So, as I lie in the fragrantly bubbled bath, a wrap around analgesic really, writable stuff drifts through my head faster than I can remember it, much less record it.
I have been reading Clay Shirky (yes, in the bath), by way of learning something about my latest interest, means of whiling away the better part of my days and potential source of income. It's very good stuff. I'm on a mission to apply the "being conscious" stuff. I have defined myself by what I do for too long. I spend so much of my time earning a living. I start well and then fall back into most of what I do being an unpleasant effort, not so much losing interest in what I do, rather taking my eye of the ball and finding myself in a space I never really intended visiting. I think that a positive step is to earn my living doing something that really interests me, with people I like and respect and learn from.
I digress.
Clay Shirky. He speaks with clarity on how scribes became redundant professionals after the advent of Guttenberg's press made mass publication cost effective. In much the same way, several hundred years later, the internet threatens the livelihood of publishers and makes journalists of us all (if we so choose). The internet, social networking, blogging … these are not inventions … they are events, they have already happened, they can’t be undone. Like my relationship with my higher power … they don’t require my approval or even my understanding, just my acceptance. So what, what now? Where do I go with this?
Judge me arrogant, naive or ignorant but for me this is a nexus point. Having found myself here … what do I do with it. It feels just too important to let it drift by unnoticed, to become a victim of this circumstance rather than engage and master it.
And so I blog.
And now the phone rings and I see another facet of this form of communication. The ease with which I can interrupt myself.
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