None of yer business - right?
Maybe it's not privacy that's dead in the water. Not yet, anyway. What worries me more - far more - than losing the right to privacy is that we're being socially engineered to accept it. Privacy in the 21st century is less than quaint: it’s unfashionable. In an era when twenty percent of American teenagers send nude photos of themselves to their friends with nary a twinge in their souls, and when reality TV routinely presents the most inconsequential goings-on of people’s lives, who wants privacy? Blogs have turned every human being with the faintest dreams of writing fame (yes, including yours truly) into a memoirist. Podcasts have done the same for the DJ dreams of the world. MySpace and Facebook introduced to modern society the very odd concept of informing your friends of your every move. Getting up? Going to bed? Eating dinner? Brushing your teeth? Proclaim it to the masses! Nothing adds allure to the most mundane details of your life like a Facebook status line. I’m not sure how Marcel Proust would have reacted to this had he been exposed to such avenues, but I suspect he either would have withdrawn into reclusiveness or put out the most amazing blog in the world.
Maybe I feel left behind. Or perhaps I’m even envious. I spent chunks of my childhood with therapists, psychiatrists, and psychotherapists, being a screwed-up child. My confessional needs became so hard-wired, I required hours to answer the question, “so tell me about yourself,” no matter who the question came from. A nun, a tutor, guidance counselors (Yes! I talked to guidance counselors!) - I confessed to all. Remember sitting in our dorm rooms with friends or people you really wanted to make out with but fell short, talking about - you know, life - until 6am? I think I had one of those chats every night. I have more self-control now, and I only let loose when in front of my current therapist or (occasionally) my wife. However, I fear society has passed me by, as with pop music, technology, and porn.
I worry about this: by the time the first generation of internet addicts (read: people my age) reaches their 70s, general communication will have become so highly personal that our status lines will be filled with detailed reports of our bowel movements. Ever stood in line at a grocery store behind a couple of old Jewish women? That will be us in just over thirty years. My only hope is that the teenagers sending nude photos of themselves today will be so appalled and socially damaged in thirty years that privacy will make a comeback. Knowing how things are progressing, however, my guess is they’ll reminisce about it during parties. (“Remember when I used to shave my crotch in the shape of Kanye West?” “Oh, wow, that looked soooo cool!” “Yeah, I got it on my flickr account now!” “Oh. I just looked it up on google.” Is it too late to return to the caves?
Maybe I feel left behind. Or perhaps I’m even envious. I spent chunks of my childhood with therapists, psychiatrists, and psychotherapists, being a screwed-up child. My confessional needs became so hard-wired, I required hours to answer the question, “so tell me about yourself,” no matter who the question came from. A nun, a tutor, guidance counselors (Yes! I talked to guidance counselors!) - I confessed to all. Remember sitting in our dorm rooms with friends or people you really wanted to make out with but fell short, talking about - you know, life - until 6am? I think I had one of those chats every night. I have more self-control now, and I only let loose when in front of my current therapist or (occasionally) my wife. However, I fear society has passed me by, as with pop music, technology, and porn.
I worry about this: by the time the first generation of internet addicts (read: people my age) reaches their 70s, general communication will have become so highly personal that our status lines will be filled with detailed reports of our bowel movements. Ever stood in line at a grocery store behind a couple of old Jewish women? That will be us in just over thirty years. My only hope is that the teenagers sending nude photos of themselves today will be so appalled and socially damaged in thirty years that privacy will make a comeback. Knowing how things are progressing, however, my guess is they’ll reminisce about it during parties. (“Remember when I used to shave my crotch in the shape of Kanye West?” “Oh, wow, that looked soooo cool!” “Yeah, I got it on my flickr account now!” “Oh. I just looked it up on google.” Is it too late to return to the caves?