How getting rescued by a Republican in the mountains convinced me that we need a mandatory national service year
Last week, I spent seven consecutive days hiking the middle section of the John Muir Trail — 100 miles of epic, high-altitude wilderness in Kings Canyon National Park. (And increasingly known by its Native American name, Nüümü Poyo.”) During the first few days,...
Lying beneath the angry, sensational game for influence, attention, and shame is still the quaint coffeeshop and witty banter. Can we still find the best of Twitter without getting distracted by the worst? And can Twitter, in its current state of disarray, find a business model that nudges us to become our better selves online? Or at least not our worst selves?
Cyclists often complain about Strava’s downsides even as they are unable to resist its addictive appeal. The constant feedback of performance data and social comparison encourages users to constantly strive harder without taking pleasure in the more enjoyable parts of the sport.
The Internet is so saturated with unsolicited life advice; why would I ever share my midlife self-absorption publicly? In case it serves someone else, as Steven Johnson’s birthday reflection from 12 years ago served me then, and served me again today.
How were these writers able to endow their characters with such sentimentality while totally cutting themselves off from the emotional lives of their loved ones in real life? Or is it the inverse? Perhaps the well-adjusted person, who shares his vulnerabilities honestly in the social world, lacks the burning impulse to produce great writing.
Why not experience this elevated attentiveness to the beauty of nature every day instead of the constant hustle to get ahead in the city, to get more money, more followers, more fame, more power?