I AM. WE ARE.
[PART II]
I have been greatly troubled by this whole I/We thing as of late, by how it is that one fits into the world, performs that subtle transition from the singular to the plural, transmutes from this individual to a part of a group, class, or genus of things. This seems to be the pervading question of my world, both on the personal level and in terms of my nearly incessant watching of CNN, MSNBC, CSPAN or whatever other news outlet I can actually find broadcasting something worthy of calling news.
If you haven’t gathered this about me yet, dear reader, I worry. Plain and simple, I am prone to anxious fretting, circular thinking, and continual pacing in small rooms while putting in more futile effort than should reasonably be expended over the smallest of details and/or things profoundly out of my control. Someday I will surely be that grandmother who worries that you have not had enough to eat ever after your fourth helping of stuffing at Thanksgiving.
[Biology issues aside – as they should be – I think it inevitable that I shall be among the dearest of grandmothers. I shall probably even learn to knit slippers.]
But, back to the point of today’s writing…
It amazes me how poorly adapted humanity seems to be – whether through millions of years of evolutionary process or by “the Measurer’s might and his mind-plans,” as Cædmon would have it – to transcending the gap between I and We. And no, dear reader, this is not a flaw I would only impute to only those others around me. No, I too confess the singular difficulty I have with this act of pluralization.
Certainly this is nothing new, not even in my own activity. It has perhaps been the central occupation of my, well, occupation for nearly a decade now. But, as of late, it has again returned to the fore. Why is it that we, I included, are so bad at being We?
Sure, one could chalk it all up to power, economics, belief, fear, any number of these much written about concerns that are manifest in the struggle to become a We. But, why then, do I seem to be so bad at it individually. These concerns are already on the order of the We: religions, monetary systems, land-claims and ownership, governments and their purview, all of these already presuppose We, and usually vast systems and substructures of We. Am I as awful as I am at talking to people on the phone because of the economic disparities between classes, or due to some set of schisms within accepted articles of faith initiated centuries before my birth? If not – and I find these unlikely causes for my stutteringly feeble efforts at We formation – then why should they be accepted as root causes at the larger level?
Perhaps this is the old Husserlian training, with its perpetual need to bracket things off, returning like an undesired Santa Claus dropping off neat little presents of doubt in my stockings, but in the process of pacing off my hour or so of laps around this small apartment I cannot help but wonder what lies beneath, what may be common to, all of the difficulties of becoming a We.
We certainly seem to have a solid grasp on the basics of being I – at least I do. I am not talking about those existential questions that are best left to metaphysicians, or of the complexities of ego formation surrounding the loss of a childhood toy. No, I refer to those basic concerns that I have, or, better yet, that are required to be I.
For example: right now I want a cup of coffee. Hence, I must get up and get the necessary things to achieve this goal and perform the requisite actions to bring this about. I have already established, in this simple process, a wide array of activities and understandings that presuppose and bring about a highly effective I. Not so hard, eh?
Why is it, then, that when We want to get coffee – whoever that We may consist of, but assuming that part of that We is I – it becomes a minor production often including costuming, makeup, and many rounds of script revision?
Yes, yes. You can bring up the whole mind-of-the-other problem. Obviously this is a complexity that makes We formation problematic. And of course social and cultural pressures come to bear. All of that brings us back to power, money, fear, etc., but brings us no closer to explaining why we are so poorly made for the task of being We.
You see, dear reader, that is what I want to know. Why are we so ill-constructed when it comes to becoming We that we must resort to bomb-dropping, name-calling, or, in my case, neurotic hand-wringing while wearing the finish off of the floor-boards in the course of pacing yet another mile of laps around this room?
You see, if it were a case where I thought that I was particularly bad at performing the leap from I to We, and the rest of you, dear readers, were somehow expert – not that I wish to impugn your individual social skills, I am sure you are quite popular and the apple of everyone’s eye – then I would readily separate these two concerns, that of why I, any I really, am so ill-suited to become part of a We, and why we are seemingly even worse at producing those even larger systems of We. But, since I seem to be doing every bit as crappy a job at it as We are, collectively speaking, I cannot help but look either skyward or back to those amoeboid ancestors with a complaint or two about our general construction.
Perhaps if we took to beginning every conversation with a confession of awkwardness things would go a little better, or preceded every act of We with an admission of ineptitude, then things might go along a wee bit effectively. Actually, that might not be such a bad idea. How about it? What if we were to call for, say, an International Day of Ungainliness? Perhaps a UN resolution to that effect? Sure, it may slow things down a little bit, but would that really be such a travesty? Perhaps we would end up with one less sexist commercial, one fewer grenade propelled at another I in negative We construction, and one more sweatless palm extended in the process of a handshake.
Alas, I know this to be a futile endeavor; otherwise I might have ceased leaving my chair in order to pace in ever-shrinking circles throughout the process of dispatching this missive and attempted something more likely to bring about such an effort – perhaps a phone call to the UN. But, alas, it seems inevitable that the weapon launching shall continue, as, assuredly, shall my own personal awkwardness over the course of our continued inadequacy at becoming We.
Regardless of any larger, nay global, effort to bring this about, I, dear reader, wish to confess to you in advance of any further communication that I am not so sure of my skills when it comes to the whole Us thing. And no, this isn’t the precursor to an uncomfortable “it isn’t you; it’s me” breakup – we have never really thought about each other in that way, have we dear reader. Much to the contrary, I intend to keep trying despite this unavoidable gangliness – verbal and otherwise – to move beyond this fragile frame, to become We, even when you don’t call me when you promise to, or ignore me when you see me in a parking lot, or even if you, for some strange reason I cannot even begin to imagine, decide you simply must launch a rocket or two.
Footnote:
You may ask, dear reader, what this all has to do with yesterday’s photo of a sign fragment on a derelict brick wall near the Utica DMV. Not much really, other than the coincidence of its last three letters further impressing the first-person plural conjugation of to be into my mind, thus prompting me to finally write out some of the nearly perpetual discourse going in circles within my brain as of late.
If you haven’t gathered this about me yet, dear reader, I worry. Plain and simple, I am prone to anxious fretting, circular thinking, and continual pacing in small rooms while putting in more futile effort than should reasonably be expended over the smallest of details and/or things profoundly out of my control. Someday I will surely be that grandmother who worries that you have not had enough to eat ever after your fourth helping of stuffing at Thanksgiving.
[Biology issues aside – as they should be – I think it inevitable that I shall be among the dearest of grandmothers. I shall probably even learn to knit slippers.]
But, back to the point of today’s writing…
It amazes me how poorly adapted humanity seems to be – whether through millions of years of evolutionary process or by “the Measurer’s might and his mind-plans,” as Cædmon would have it – to transcending the gap between I and We. And no, dear reader, this is not a flaw I would only impute to only those others around me. No, I too confess the singular difficulty I have with this act of pluralization.
Certainly this is nothing new, not even in my own activity. It has perhaps been the central occupation of my, well, occupation for nearly a decade now. But, as of late, it has again returned to the fore. Why is it that we, I included, are so bad at being We?
Sure, one could chalk it all up to power, economics, belief, fear, any number of these much written about concerns that are manifest in the struggle to become a We. But, why then, do I seem to be so bad at it individually. These concerns are already on the order of the We: religions, monetary systems, land-claims and ownership, governments and their purview, all of these already presuppose We, and usually vast systems and substructures of We. Am I as awful as I am at talking to people on the phone because of the economic disparities between classes, or due to some set of schisms within accepted articles of faith initiated centuries before my birth? If not – and I find these unlikely causes for my stutteringly feeble efforts at We formation – then why should they be accepted as root causes at the larger level?
Perhaps this is the old Husserlian training, with its perpetual need to bracket things off, returning like an undesired Santa Claus dropping off neat little presents of doubt in my stockings, but in the process of pacing off my hour or so of laps around this small apartment I cannot help but wonder what lies beneath, what may be common to, all of the difficulties of becoming a We.
We certainly seem to have a solid grasp on the basics of being I – at least I do. I am not talking about those existential questions that are best left to metaphysicians, or of the complexities of ego formation surrounding the loss of a childhood toy. No, I refer to those basic concerns that I have, or, better yet, that are required to be I.
For example: right now I want a cup of coffee. Hence, I must get up and get the necessary things to achieve this goal and perform the requisite actions to bring this about. I have already established, in this simple process, a wide array of activities and understandings that presuppose and bring about a highly effective I. Not so hard, eh?
Why is it, then, that when We want to get coffee – whoever that We may consist of, but assuming that part of that We is I – it becomes a minor production often including costuming, makeup, and many rounds of script revision?
Yes, yes. You can bring up the whole mind-of-the-other problem. Obviously this is a complexity that makes We formation problematic. And of course social and cultural pressures come to bear. All of that brings us back to power, money, fear, etc., but brings us no closer to explaining why we are so poorly made for the task of being We.
You see, dear reader, that is what I want to know. Why are we so ill-constructed when it comes to becoming We that we must resort to bomb-dropping, name-calling, or, in my case, neurotic hand-wringing while wearing the finish off of the floor-boards in the course of pacing yet another mile of laps around this room?
You see, if it were a case where I thought that I was particularly bad at performing the leap from I to We, and the rest of you, dear readers, were somehow expert – not that I wish to impugn your individual social skills, I am sure you are quite popular and the apple of everyone’s eye – then I would readily separate these two concerns, that of why I, any I really, am so ill-suited to become part of a We, and why we are seemingly even worse at producing those even larger systems of We. But, since I seem to be doing every bit as crappy a job at it as We are, collectively speaking, I cannot help but look either skyward or back to those amoeboid ancestors with a complaint or two about our general construction.
Perhaps if we took to beginning every conversation with a confession of awkwardness things would go a little better, or preceded every act of We with an admission of ineptitude, then things might go along a wee bit effectively. Actually, that might not be such a bad idea. How about it? What if we were to call for, say, an International Day of Ungainliness? Perhaps a UN resolution to that effect? Sure, it may slow things down a little bit, but would that really be such a travesty? Perhaps we would end up with one less sexist commercial, one fewer grenade propelled at another I in negative We construction, and one more sweatless palm extended in the process of a handshake.
Alas, I know this to be a futile endeavor; otherwise I might have ceased leaving my chair in order to pace in ever-shrinking circles throughout the process of dispatching this missive and attempted something more likely to bring about such an effort – perhaps a phone call to the UN. But, alas, it seems inevitable that the weapon launching shall continue, as, assuredly, shall my own personal awkwardness over the course of our continued inadequacy at becoming We.
Regardless of any larger, nay global, effort to bring this about, I, dear reader, wish to confess to you in advance of any further communication that I am not so sure of my skills when it comes to the whole Us thing. And no, this isn’t the precursor to an uncomfortable “it isn’t you; it’s me” breakup – we have never really thought about each other in that way, have we dear reader. Much to the contrary, I intend to keep trying despite this unavoidable gangliness – verbal and otherwise – to move beyond this fragile frame, to become We, even when you don’t call me when you promise to, or ignore me when you see me in a parking lot, or even if you, for some strange reason I cannot even begin to imagine, decide you simply must launch a rocket or two.
Footnote:
You may ask, dear reader, what this all has to do with yesterday’s photo of a sign fragment on a derelict brick wall near the Utica DMV. Not much really, other than the coincidence of its last three letters further impressing the first-person plural conjugation of to be into my mind, thus prompting me to finally write out some of the nearly perpetual discourse going in circles within my brain as of late.
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