Instagram has become what Facebook once was for me — A place to gawk at acquaintances. I don’t take pride in this, but I constantly do it. I’ve previously bemoaned Instagram’s uniquely luring presence in my life. That feeling that if I deleted it, I would be missing out on what’s happening with those around me. It’s probably not true. I’m not getting some rich tapestry of my friends lives on instagram, I’m GAWKING.
I love seeing a random guy from high school make an incomprehensible recipe on a 244p camera while divorced dad rock plays in the background. That tickles something that the rest of the internet can’t quite compete with. Then there’s the true trainwrecks, when people air out their drama or dirty laundry. Or, worse, make drastic questionable decisions that they document thoroughly on their stories.
Recently, someone from my high school decided to do this. They announced proudly that they quit their tech job to start a podcast and become famous. I have loads of issues with this conceptually starting with that having a tech job is hardly an accomplishment in itself. As someone with a tech job I can confidently say that having a job like this is no more impressive than other lines of work.
Then there’s the goal: being famous. This person says daily that this is the goal, posting things like “when you know you’re going to be famous” over videos of themselves. Being famous or popular is a terrible goal. Maybe it’s too many Rick Ruben books, but in my opinion the goal should be to create something you love and, if you want to, share it after. Popularity is out of their and our control. Also, trying to be popular is a fantastic way to not be popular.
So each day I watch this play out: “Day 43 of quitting my tech job to be a full time entertainer.” And I ask myself why. Why are they really doing this? Why set an absurd goal, and why overstate your credibility to everyone around you? I don’t want to psychoanalyze this person, but to me the answer is obvious: GRANDEUR!
Everyone’s done it at some point. I have this very common yet childish habit of pretending I’m performing the songs that rattle off my Spotify. Like, instead of Don McClean it’s me belting out a ballad about the day the music died. It’s a bit ironic that I’ve taken this up given how far away I am from any sort of music production. Of all the people in my life who could reasonably imagine themselves as a singer-songwriter, mine is the most egregious leap of fantasy. But hey, It adds visions of grandeur to me sitting in a room on a Tuesday night, and I’m so far from ever doing that I’m insulated from the temptation of delusion that these kinds of things can trigger. I might be behaving like a 14 year old, but at least I’m being honest with myself. Not everyone is, as Instagram so helpfully reminds me.
Nikolai Gogol wrote the short story “The Nose”, wherein the protagonist’s nose detaches itself from his face and arrogantly parades around the city in an officers uniform. Kovalyov, the protagonist, is desperate not only to recover his nose but also embarrassed that it’s achieved a higher standing than him. His Nose condescends him:
“My dear sir,” said Kovalyov with a sense of his own dignity, “I don’t know how to interpret your words… The whole thing seems to me quite obvious… Or do you wish… After all, you are my own nose!”
The Nose looked at the major and slightly knitted his brows.
“You are mistaken, my dear sir, I exist in my own right. Besides, there can be no close relation between us. Judging by the buttons on your uniform, you must be employed in the Senate or at least in the Ministry of Justice. As for me, I am in the scholarly line.”
The rest of the story details his pursuit to recover it so Kovalyov himself can achieve a higher rank, a desperate thirst for commodified grandeur thats absurdity is laid bare by his high status nose.
Kovalyov is not alone. We all have our preferred vehicles for feeling grandeur. Life at the daily level can be brutally monotonous. If you’re not trying to add a little meaning to that – real or otherwise – you risk falling into the psychology of Office Space or the beginning of the Matrix. But we can go too far with this. We’ve all known folks who’ve overcommitted to their art relative to their abilities like my instagram peers, it’s a brutal fact of life.
The counterargument, and it has validity, is that many great changemakers began with delusions of Grandeur and high expectations of fame and fortune. That might be true, but is grandeur itself a worthy goal? Is it worth the lost time, money, and broken spirits of the other 99% who don’t achieve that? Bo Burnham once said on Conan that celebrities telling you to follow your dreams is like lottery winners saying “liquidate your assets! Buy powerball tickets!” and I think there’s real truth in that.
My message here seems pretty lame, it sounds like it’s essentially one of conservatism – “DON’T TAKE THAT RISK! YOU’LL FAIL!” I’m the opposite of the man in the ring, I’m the guy on his website ruthlessly critiquing someone actually trying to build something. That it’s better to pretend you wrote Hey Jude as you disassociate than it is to actually pursue greatness. While I am lame, I’m not quite that lame. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the pursuit, it’s the expectation of grandeur that’s the issue. It’s lying to yourself that you’re one perfect recording from being on the billboard top 40. Ironically, those delusions can cause the high expectations and eventual disappointment that murders creativity in the cradle. George Leonard called this effect the “Dabbler’s Syndrome.” The “Dabbler” gets excited by new things but loses interest when progress slows or effort is required.
The majority of people who are successful in high risk careers spend enormous amounts of time honing their craft and themselves. It’s not pretty, or sexy, it can be mundane and routine. It’s essential to know this and do your best to be realistic with what you’re expecting to get from what you’re making. Fame and fortune are pretty shitty goals. But life remains mundane, so if you do want a little grandeur I’d highly recommend pretending you wrote that deeply meaningful song and you’re performing in front of your mystified enemies, friends, and family. Then get back at it.
Colin