Everyone Has A Journey Now

I swear everyone has a journey these days.

Not a holiday. Not a bad week. Not a phase. A journey.

You can't simply decide to eat more vegetables. No. You are now on a wellness journey. You don't start jogging. You're on a fitness journey. You don't buy a budget planner because you've spent too much money on rubbish from Facebook. You're on a financial journey. (I should be on one of those!)

Everything has become a journey.

Personally, I think most of us are just wandering around lost. I know I am. Just trying to muddle my way through life!

I see people online announcing life-changing transformations because they've spent three days drinking green smoothies and writing affirmations on their phone.

Three days.

I've had colds that lasted longer than some people's personal growth. The internet is full of people explaining how they became enlightened after a weekend retreat involving herbal tea and mindfulness.

Meanwhile, some of us are just trying to remember why we walked into the kitchen.

I particularly enjoy the wellness crowd. Oh and the influencers! Don’t even get me started on being an “influencer”.

Apparently, all my problems can be solved if I purchase a supplement/tonic/bullshit; available for only $29.99 a month plus shipping. Conveniently, they also sell it.

I have reached an age where if somebody says they're on a wellness journey, I immediately assume they're about to try and sell me something.

The reality is that life isn't a journey.

It's mostly a series of unexpected events, wrong turns, forgotten passwords, mystery subscriptions and trying not to fall over while carrying a cup of coffee. Some days you're winning. Some days you're looking for your glasses while they're sitting on your head. And that's okay.

Not everything has to be a journey. Sometimes you're just a person having a Saturday.

Why Is Every Product Is Now A Subscription?

I have spent the last few weeks trying to cancel ridiculous subscriptions I didn't even realise I had. At this point, I am fairly certain I am financially supporting half the internet.

It starts innocently enough.

You buy something online. A program. An app. A service. A thing that promises to organise your life, improve your photos, teach you Italian, make you fitter, thinner, smarter or somehow transform you into a better version of yourself (and I’ve tried them all!)

You click "Buy Now." What you don't realise is you've actually entered into a lifelong financial relationship with some fucker that you can’t get in touch with!

Nothing belongs to you anymore. You don't buy software, music or television. You rent it. Soon I'll be subscribing to socks. For just $14.99 a month, a fresh pair will arrive at your door along with a motivational quote and a reminder that cancelling requires a court order.

The best part is trying to leave. It takes days to track down an email address. Signing up takes approximately six seconds! Cancelling requires the determination of a hostage negotiator.

The button is never where you think it should be. If there is one at all! You click Account. Not there. Settings. Not there. Billing. Still not there. Eventually you're directed to a page that says: "We're sorry to see you go, but your next giraffe is already in the mail, so you'll need to pay for that one first."

No, you're not. If you were sorry, you'd let me leave.

Instead, I'm forced to answer seventeen questions about why I want to cancel. The truth is because I have absolutely no idea who you are and I’ve got 16 bottles of lymph node stuff already! Apparently six months ago I thought your service would change my life. Today I can't even remember what it does, or it was just more crap that didn’t work.

The internet has become a giant collection of tiny monthly payments quietly draining our bank accounts while we sleep.

Five dollars here. Ten dollars there. Seven dollars somewhere else. Before long you're spending enough each month to adopt a small horse.

These days I think the safest approach is simple. If someone offers me a free trial, I run. If someone wants my bank details, I become suspicious. And if something promises to change my life for only $9.99, I immediately start looking for the words "per month" hidden somewhere in microscopic writing at the bottom of the page. I assume it's about to become another subscription I'll spend three weeks trying to cancel.

Because if experience has taught me anything, it's that the internet isn't trying to change my life. It's trying to bill me for it!

Ahhhh - For my next blog, I was thinking: 

How To Stay Away From The Light

A practical guide for people who have had enough medical procedures to qualify as frequent flyers.  :)

Why Nobody Can Just Be Bored Anymore

I was sitting in a waiting room the other day and noticed something strange. Nobody was just doing nothing. Not one person.

There were six people in the room. One was scrolling Facebook. One was watching videos. One was typing furiously into their phone like they were negotiating a peace treaty. Another was listening to something through earbuds. Even the teenager who looked permanently exhausted was still staring at a screen. Nobody was just sitting there.

And it got me thinking. When did boredom become illegal?

When I was a kid, boredom was a normal part of life. You'd sit in the back seat of a car of mum and dad’s old Ford, staring out the window for three hours wondering if sheep ever got bored of looking at other sheep.

You'd lie on the lounge and stare at the ceiling.

You'd wander around the house annoying your mother until she eventually told you to go outside and find something to do. Outside… It is only a concept these days. Probably why they build new subdivisions with no yard and fake grass. You couldn’t even have a pet!

Now the second we experience three seconds of silence; we reach for our phones like they're emergency medical equipment. Waiting in line? Phone. At the supermarket? Phone. Sitting on the toilet? Definitely phone.

Some people can't even watch television anymore without simultaneously scrolling through another screen (Squeeze, I hope you are reading this…) Apparently one source of entertainment is no longer enough. We now require entertainment while we're being entertained.

We've become scared of our own thoughts. The moment our brains aren't occupied, we start looking for stimulation. News. Social media. Videos. Games. Shopping. Anything.

Everything is available instantly. Which sounds wonderful until you realise our brains never get a break. Boredom used to be where creativity lived. Some of the best ideas I've ever had arrived while I was doing absolutely nothing.

Just sitting there. Thinking. But now, we've filled every tiny gap in our day with noise.

Podcasts while driving. Music while walking. Videos while eating. Social media while watching television. Messages while pretending to work.

At some point we stopped leaving room for our brains to wander. And wandering is important. That's where reflection happens. That's where ideas happen. That’s where best sellers are written.

The Whole World Is Addicted To Outrage

I’ve been thinking on it, and I don’t think we’re addicted to social media. I think we’re addicted to outrage. Somewhere along the way, being mildly annoyed stopped being enough. We now require full emotional combustion before breakfast.

You can wake up in the morning, make a coffee, open your phone and within thirty seconds discover seventeen things you’re supposed to be pissed off about. A celebrity said something stupid. A politician said something stupid (when don’t they?)

Someone was offended by something stupid. Someone else was offended by the people who were offended by the stupid thing. Then another group got offended by them. And now everyone is pissed off. By 8:15am, you haven't even put undies on and you've already mentally fought three wars and told a politician to shut up.

The internet rewards outrage because it is engagement. Nobody shares a post that says, "Well, that's a reasonably balanced point of view." No. They share the one that makes them want to throw their phone through a window.

The algorithms know this. The system isn't broken. The system is working perfectly.

We're the problem.

I watch people online looking for reasons to be angry. Not finding them, they create them. A joke becomes an international incident. A typo becomes evidence of moral collapse. Someone accidentally uses the wrong word and suddenly they're being discussed like they've personally caused the fall of civilisation.

It's exhausting.…

The funny thing is most of us are living ordinary lives. We're walking the dog. Doing the washing. Trying to remember why we walked into the kitchen and standing for two minutes until you remember!

The world has always had problems. Serious ones.

Wars.

Poverty.

Crime.

Disease.

But now we're also expected to be emotionally invested in every minor disagreement occurring on every corner of the planet simultaneously.

No wonder everyone is tired.

We've become outrage collectors.

We gather grievances like other people collect stamps. "I can't believe this happened." "Wait until you hear about this." "Oh, that's nothing. Here's something even worse." The strangest part is how quickly yesterday's outrage disappears.

Remember the thing everyone was furious about three weeks ago? No? Exactly. Neither does anyone else.  Because we've already moved on to the next emergency.

The outrage machine must constantly be fed. Meanwhile, outside, the sun is still shining. People are walking their dogs. Kids are kicking footballs.

Most of life remains stubbornly normal. Maybe that's why outrage sells so well. Normal doesn't generate clicks.

Peace doesn't trend.

Contentment doesn't go viral.

But anger?

Anger is internet gold.

So these days, when the latest global catastrophe appears in my feed and complete strangers demand my immediate emotional participation, I sometimes do something radical.

I put my phone down.

I make a cup of tea.

I pat my dog Sharpie.

I ignore everyone.

And somehow, despite my lack of outrage, the world keeps turning.

Who knew?

Filmed, Photographed, Reviewed, Liked, Shared

Social media used to be a place where people shared photos of their lunch and argued about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

Now it’s a full-time psychological experiment.

Every second video starts with someone telling me they’ve discovered a secret doctor don’t want me to know. Apparently, doctors don’t want me to know anything. They don’t want me to know how to lose weight, grow hair, reverse ageing, improve my eyesight, clean my oven or communicate telepathically with my dog.

Then there are the influencers.

One woman tells me she became a millionaire by waking up at 4am and drinking lemon water. Another claims she retired at twenty-seven after discovering passive income. Meanwhile I’m fairly certain most of them are earning money by teaching other people how to earn money by teaching other people how to earn money.

It’s like a pyramid scheme wrapped in a ring light.

Everyone is an expert now.

A bloke who failed Year 10 is explaining geopolitics, not that that bothers me so much. Some people who have brains don't do well in the school system. A woman who bought a jade roller yesterday is suddenly a medical specialist. Someone who owns two rental properties is teaching financial literacy. And all of them are speaking with the confidence of people who personally invented electricity.

The advertisements are even worse. “This one simple trick melts fat while you sleep.” Fantastic. If that worked, Australia would be a nation of supermodels lying unconscious on couches.

Then there are the videos where someone cleans an already spotless house while dramatic music plays in the background. Look at me putting away three coffee mugs.

You’re not a domestic goddess, Karen. You’re loading a frigging dishwasher!

The strangest thing is how seriously everyone takes it. People have friendships, relationships and complete emotional breakdowns over comments made by strangers whose profile picture is a cartoon frog wearing sunglasses. We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that likes equal approval, followers' equal friendship and viral fame equals success.

It doesn’t. Most of it disappears tomorrow and nobody remembers a thing.

The internet promised to connect humanity. Instead, it turned us into unpaid actors in our own reality show, desperately refreshing our phones to see whether strangers approve of what we had for lunch.

The real world is still out there.

The sun still rises.

Coffee still tastes good.

Friends still laugh.

And none of them require a hashtag.

Sometimes I think the healthiest thing you can do is put your phone down, walk outside and remember that not everything needs to be filmed, photographed, reviewed, ranked, liked, shared and monetised.

Some things can simply happen.

What a radical idea.