This started out as a pathetic piece bemoaning the oh-so-tragic loss of a beautiful machine, and with it the (hopefully temporary) loss of my biggest asset: my (ability to be) passion(ate). I've since attempted to transform it into a post dealing with a more lofty subject, but please excuse any apocalyptic undertones you may sense - my wounds still sting.
I've had countless arguments about technology over the past five years. Being part of the music industry, I often find people who feel the Internet is the beginning of the end; who insist modern technology consists mainly of vile tools that bring out the basest aspects of the human psyche; the Internet enables people to wildly act without repercussion. Software (e.g. Garageband, FL Studio, Audacity) makes it easy for talentless fools to create magnificent music. Affordable high-quality cameras and YouTube make it easy for silly amateurs to accumulate Scorcese-esque accolades. And so on.
My opinion has always been the opposite. The Internet is a truly democratizing force, and modern technology is the crowning achievement of mankind. Everyone should have the ability to create art with ease. While this may lead to an abundance of crap, trusted gate-keepers who will filter out the garbage will inevitably emerge and prosper. The ubiquitous laptop and the un-tamable Internet are the two catalysts for a new age where any human has the opportunity to be heard by every human. This is the age of the idea. The rapid development of technology is an unstoppable train - fighting it is suicide - get on board, get out of the way, or be run over. Lately, however, I've been questioning a lot of the things I considered so obvious.
My relationship with my MacBook Pro was unhealthy - I've realized that, to some degree, for some time now. The first thing I picked up when I woke up, it was the last thing I put down before I slumbered. It provided me with entertainment, social interaction, inspiration, news, education, and, most importantly, an ability to make music. Every day, I processed all the inputs from reality, and regurgitated it back out in the form of two or three two-or-three-minute instrumental pieces of music. This process was intensely therapeutic. Regardless of what happened in my life, music creation was the rock I could cling to. After I finished a beat, a deep sense of peace - of satisfaction, of pride, of fulfilling one's purpose - always filled me. For my Mac, I felt as much love as one can possibly feel for a semi-animate object.
Over the past week, I've been laptop-less, I haven't made any music. I feel lost - I feel a loss of purpose, a loss of drive, a loss of passion. This has forced me to think about some difficult issues. Is it wise to invest so much of my life into something that could disappear so easily? Is it wise to invest so much of my life into anything at all? Is it smart to associate my self-worth with something so temporary? Is our relationship with technology taking away from our relationships with real humans? Will our reliance on computers someday lead to our downfall as a society?
I don't know the answers to these questions. But I do know that personally, I don't want to be on my deathbed and look back at a life lived sitting in front of a glowing screen. I know that the face-to-face relationships I have with people (which are, in reality, just as transient) are more important. I know that I need an outlet for my creativity that does not rely on expensive equipment. Going forward, I realize how important it is to have more than one basket to store my proverbial eggs. I know the inherent danger that comes with falling in love with a machine.
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