Overconsumption, the Importance of Hobbies, and the Loss of Humanity

Aschero, Carlos A.; Schneier, Patricia (13 April 2021). "The Black Series in the Hunting Scenes of Cueva De Las Manos, Río Pinturas, Patagonia, Argentina". 

~7,300 BC Cave art found in Argentina

 

There is a new phenomenon that plagues me. I lie awake at night seeing visions of humanity wearing the same outfit saying the same things. We're all the same, blank replica of one another. Each time I go out and am around kids my age, particularly teens and those in their early twenties, I notice patterns. Not just one pattern, but many. The same cheap thread woven into the blank tapestry of youth. We are all the same now. We subscribe to the opinions of the same people, we replicate the same outfits to obtain the same aesthetic (God, aesthetic. That word in itself is a killer of individuality). The same makeup, hair, jewelry- all of it identical. 

We all used to be individuals! What happened to us? Has social media really turned us all into one repeating figure?

I am well aware going with the crowd is a side effect of growing up in this society, but where I cannot agree is to the extent. The fast paced overconsumption associated with trends, the amount of money spent to “stay relevant”- the sheer speed and scale at which it is being done is far from normal. Endless consumption leaves us empty with nothing to gain and nothing to give. With the focus on consuming content rather than creating art, we become a series of repeating blank objects, echoing each other blindly. We are nothing without our own curated interests and hobbies. To not make our own art is to lose our humanity.

The idea that what you give your attention span to is the same as curating our interests has led young people to believe we are growing our skill sets. We aren’t hobbyists improving our skills, we’re subscribing to the idea that it would be nice to have a hobby. Watching people garden and bake and make everything from scratch does not make those our interests, we're just intrigued by the concept of it. If you spend fifty hours each week watching people homestead, for example (and if that’s your for you page like me, ha) but spend less than one hour actually learning hands on to do it yourself, then homesteading is not your interest; your phone is, and you're just addicted to the concept of a life you enjoy but are too scared to do it yourself. Taking the time used to nurture your interests away from yourself is the loss of identity, and the beginning of the death of selfhood.

The importance of hobbies are belittled nowadays. Even the word “hobby” feels so unserious. How are we even the same humans that used to give Artisans a whole social class? These interests are seen as quaint past times, things to keep ourselves busy in what little remaining free time we have after work and school. Putting together a puzzle or doing a paint by numbers. I believe hobbies that make us take time and hard work- maintaining a garden, learning an instrument or language, truly and deeply, save us.

So, what is really stopping us from trying the things for ourselves that we give our attention span too?

Is it the fear of failure? Of judgement? Or is the fear of commitment, the same fear that keeps an alarming number of us single and afraid to take a chance with someone we fancy? Why is it that our generation is so scared? If I had to take a guess, it would be the sheer amount of information given to a developing brain. We all just know and see far too much. It's beyond being informed- it's simply overstimulation. It's not like this is some epiphany either. Ask anyone and they’ll agree we are over informed with underdeveloped skills. We are all well aware we are doing the wrong thing, so why aren’t we changing?

Phone addiction, I suppose. But what else?

When I was a child, I yearned to know as much as I could about plants. I was the one who suggested we play green witch and mix muddy, herby concoctions together in our back gardens with the neighborhood kids. I would speak to the lady bugs, pink cheeked and running barefoot through the neighborhood. I swore I found God in the streaks of sunlight. I had a deeply profound love for the outside, and I wanted to know everything I could. But then I got older, and suddenly having the love for it wasn't enough. I felt the need to be good at everything, like enjoying something for what it was was not enough anymore. Then things progressed and shame teamed up with my new found social media addiction and they took the pain of love off of my hands. Now that I am twenty, I feel the empty space my life has grown around where hobbies and little “unimportant” skills should be. I drown out the emptiness with social media, watching other people do what I want to and sell me the items associated with the aesthetic. It’s easier this way. No messy pain associated with growth and love.

Humans have been intertwined with art since the beginning of time. I believe it is our destiny. From 40,000 year old cave paintings in South America to the 37,000 year old Venus statues around Europe, from the stories hidden in the songs cried out in battles and hummed to crying babies, from the shards of pottery found beneath the dirt to statues beneath the waves, paintings hiding underneath other paintings and jewelry scattered under ash, even the remnants of gardens long lived and tended to- we are artists. It is what we build our lives on. It is our nature to create out of love and for love and in search of love. To give into fear that our love and intrigue for something is not good enough, that our time is simply not worth it, or that to watch someone else do what we wish to do is just as good- what a waste. What a waste. To heal, we must return to ourselves. We must come home. Sign up for that class! Fail it! That’s okay, you learned something! Learn the violin! Or the ocarina! The harp! Write a book series, it will be slow and painful and oh so rewarding! Make a garden and paint the stones all your favorite colors! Learn the names of the bugs that thank you for it! Learn to hear the words whispered by the universe: Come home, come home! Oh how I’ve missed you.

I know deep down that we are not all the same, even now. It lies within us, the seed of love that makes us all different. I just hope that one day love will overpower the addiction and the systems of injustice that are rule our precious time here. Our days are numbered, after all.

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

- Wild Geese, Mary Oliver