Consumers & Creators

On page 526 of his biography of Steve Jobs, Walter Isaacson writes about the launch of the iPad 2 in March 2011:

Then he moved on to address a criticism that had been rankling him because it had some merit: The original iPad had been better at consuming content than creating it. So Apple had adapted its two best creative applications for the Macintoch, GarageBand and iMovie, and made powerful versions available for the iPad.

When I read this, I smacked my forehead and went, "That's it!" I could finally articulate why I had been uninterested in the iPhone when it first came out and why I don't engage with mine the way most people seem to. I've written about this before--about how we had a friend who got an iPhone when they were released. He brought it over and showed it off, and he loved it, and it seemed pretty spiffy; but I couldn't figure out why I would want one--what would I do with it? I don't really watch videos, and music isn't my life, and I had no desire to be able to shop from my phone or read people's updates or tweets while I was standing in line at the post office. It wasn't until Judy Wise showed me how she used her iPhone that I finally got it: you could take photos and share them, and you could get a blogging app so you could blog while you were traveling, and you could upload movies. In short, you could use it as a tool to create stuff.

To create content. And when I read that in Isaacson's book, I started thinking about consumers and creators. Now, I could have titled this post "Consumers vs. Creators," but I didn't want it to be about pitting one against the other because the truth is this: you can't have one without the other. Oh, sure: there are some people, somewhere, who create in total isolation without ever having the need to share what they make. We're not talking about them, though, OK? Because most people who make stuff want to show it to someone else, at some point, even if that someone else is their sister or a friend or the person sitting next to them in a class or workshop. Most of us create to make concrete some idea we carry in our head, and the reason to bring it out into the world is to share it. If we had no desire to share, we could just leave it in our brain, where it would be absolutely perfect without all the work and mess.

In thinking about this, I realized it explains a lot about the way I am. It explains why I don't like tv and why i don't like to sit still and watch stuff and why I'm way better at listening while sitting in an audience if I'm also stitching. Why I doodled during those very few years as a child when I was taken, sporadically, to church. Why I doodled in math class (when I wasn't trying to read a book hidden under my notebook) and fell asleep in art history when the lights were turned off and all I could do was look at the slides (or snooze). I don't do well just sitting and watching. I am not a consumer.

Oh, sure. I consume stuff--we all do. I read books, I watch movies, I look at magazines. But no matter how good any of these are, there's a point where I can't stand it any more, where I have to pause it or put it down and go DO something. Because Doing Stuff--Making Stuff--that's what I do. Not watching or listening or seeing, but doing and making.

I don't know why this is, but I know I'm not alone, and I'm guessing there are other people out there who are going, "Oh, wow. That explains it for me, too!" We know there are a bunch of factors that go into making up any personality, but think about just this one, and think about how it could explain so much. Learning styles, for example: it could explain why some people learn best if someone demonstrates the concept or technique and why others learn best if they're allowed to try it out and make mistakes and figure it out themselves (with guidance, usually, but not always). It would explain why some people do well with lectures and why some find it torture to sit through any speech longer than five minutes. Why some of us love cooking shows and some would rather be in the kitchen with three jars of spices, a dead chicken and some lard and just make it up as we go along.

This explains for me the way I use the internet, especially social media. It explains what I love about blogging and what I hate about television. I've always known I have to Make Stuff--when I was a kid, it didn't really matter *what* I was making; I just wanted to Make Stuff. That's what I called it, even then: Making Stuff. What I've learned since is that what I really love is making specific stuff--fabric stuff, wardrobe stuff, house stuff--and then sharing it and imagining it inspires other people to make stuff. Because I think most of us are egocentric enough to imagine that the things we love are things other people love, too. So if being inspired to try something new is really exciting for us, then, gooooolly! (and here The EGE would want me to add, "Shaaaa-zaaaaaam!" and if you don't get it, then you didn't watch nearly enough of Andy of Mayberry when you were growing up), it's bound to be really exciting for other people, too.

One of the coolest things about getting older, about passing middle age and and moving on, is that you learn to accept your quirks. For decades, I kept thinking I would someday change, that I'd master my foibles and get over my bad habits and someday learn to calm down and quit being judgmental and Get a Real Job and just generally fit in. I tried to learn compassion because I thought I wasn't compassionate, and I tried to learn how to Be Social because I wasn't in the ways other people seem to be. And on, and on, and on. At some point, if you're lucky, you realize it's all a myth: that there's no Way to Be, no matter what tv and movies and magazines try to make you believe. Everyone else is not Doing It The Right Way (meaning that you, by definition, must be Doing It The Wrong Way). Everyone is just doing it their own way.

I read something last night, something forwarded to me by a friend, in which someone attempted to explain our behavior via the pronouns we use when we talk and write. They've even developed a website where you can go, plug in your Twitter name, and have your last tweets analyzed. I had to do it, of course--how could you resist?--and discovered that really the only thing my last tweets say about me is that I have a high score for depression. Huh? Maybe this is true, but I want to know: how did you get this? And why are you an expert? And what proof do you have to back up your claims about the importance of the way we use pronouns in determining our personality? And how accurate is it across the broad spectrum of people who use the language?

In short, why should any of us think it applies to us? Extrapolating from that: why should we think any survey or self-help book or inner-excavation workshop ritual will work for us? If something applies to all of us--in all our glorious diversity--then it has to be so broad and bland and watered down that it's meaningless. Popular culture reinforces the sense of tribal belonging: we're all part of a tribe, a hive, a huge collective group with the same needs and desires and interests. They provide polls and surveys that show us all kinds of things about ourselves--this week in the New York Times, for example, you can find out that if you're a man, you're more likely than ever before to wear accessories like bracelets (called "wristwear") and carry a bag and that if you're young and male, humor is more important to you than music or videos in defining who you are and choosing those with whom you want to spend your time.

Really? They know all that about you? Amazing. We read that and think it tells something about us, but what it really tells about is the people conducting the survey: where they work and whom they see as their demographic and what information they're trying to collect. It tells us nothing about us because we are not monolithic. We are rich and diverse, and there's no reason to try to make us seem all the same. Sure, we all need food and water and oxygen and all that, but we don't all need an iPad or wristwear or a car or chewing gum or kids or an IRA.

Some of us are going to make videos. Some of us are going to review those videos. Some are going to spread the videos to their readers and followers. Some of us are going to watch those videos and learn new stuff. Some are going to take the videos and make parodies. Some are going to set them to music. Some are going to compile them into something else. That's the way it is with anything.

Instead of thinking about what you're "supposed" to be doing, think about what you do and love. What is your Special Purpose? Is it to create stuff? To disseminate stuff? To review stuff? Try stuff? Sit back and appreciate stuff? One of my favorite online id's is someone who calls herself The Art Appreciator. I think that's marvelous, and I think people usually fail to grasp the importance of those who relish their role as Appreciators. Without them, those of us who are compelled to Make Stuff would be doing nothing more than entertaining ourselves. The people who graciously appreciate what we do are doing a fabulously important thing for all of us.

My point? Ahh, my point: each of us has a way of being, things we're great at and things that don't interest us at all. Instead of trying to change all of those, we should, instead, look at them and figure out what it means about us and what we can do with our lives that will make us happy and make our little bit of the planet a better place. It might be painting. It might be being an appreciative audience of one. It might be making movies. It might be serving as a listening ear. Only you can figure it out, but once you do, you can quit beating yourself up because you're not great at everything else. Be great at what you're good at. Or--wait!--just be good at it. You don't have to be great. Do what you do, do it with passion, and you'll be fulfilling the role that's perfect for you. And you'll be a much happier person, and that's always a good thing.

What do you think? I'd love to hear from you~~XO