There used to be something.
I remember, there was something that gave some words a certain magic.
Sometimes (usually) it was actual magic. Wands and wizards. Now, it seems more random - if it ever does happen, it's usually some random wikipedia article, or a completely unhinged post by some anonymous idiot. So, at first glance, novelty is the solution, and novelty certainly can drive enthusiasm. Especially in someone like me. But I want that feeling consistently... I miss the ease with which I used to be able to love to read.
I have a few theories - I'm generally unhappy, relative to my younger self. Less able to disconnect from things like climate change, plagued by worries about things outside my control. So many of my dreams came true, but most of those dreams were just "I wish I had genitals I was okay with" or things like "I hope I get to have friends one day." So even though I'm out of that distress, it doesn't feel like a victory. Now I just have the same shit going on as everyone else.
I'm less free, day to day, minute to minute. More worried. Sadder about things lost, opportunities missed. Things often hurt, now. For no reason. And I suspect all this makes a difference. But I think there are better reasons, reasons related to the content I'm consuming.
Most written content fails to convince me, so often, of its actual value, word for word. Fiction and nonfiction both. I skim because I am not sold, and it's unstimulating, frustrating work.
I think, first of all, most text could be more concise. Including this post.
Second, it could also be more purposeful, and implicitly valuable. I've been trained to consume words for the sake of consuming them, to write for the sake of writing. Even my entertainment is largely consumed for the sake of consuming. I wonder about this - it's always rung a bit hollow that art is valuable for the sake of art, and it's unsatisfying enough for me to at least look for a different approach. Tautological. Strange. And we acknowledge that it's not enough whenever we evaluate art in any way - if art was valuable for the sake of art, why refine a craft? Why go to a museum?
Purposeful art is art that drives you towards it because you need it for some purpose. It shows you something you needed to see, something you needed to feel. We all know what this feels like, but capitalism fights against this by burying every piece of necessary art in thousands and thousands of pieces created because the artists need to live, and there's money to be made from people who think they might have found something that will fill their needs.
I feel this most intensely when I watch things like Love, Death, Robots. I like it, it's visually interesting, and the stories can sometimes feel pretty good. But in every choice, you can feel the commercial need to appear like art. There's a very small audience who will need content like that; with every fibre of their being, be driven though it because it is necessary.
I worry about what someone will think of my choice, and my opinion, while absorbing content. If the content is dumb enough, I can be watching something "dumb". Otherwise, I construct a justification. I find myself seeking value in things that don't deserve it, constantly.
I worry that I'm not smart enough, or well educated enough, to know why something sucks. I'm unable to reasonably buck my worry about these things because I know my smarts and my education have an impact on my safety in capitalism, but in the moment, it just feels like a question of some irrational singular measure of my individual value.
I've had success deflecting thoughts like this intentionally, by just intentionally thinking other thoughts. Even though there are situational difficulties that result in these unhealthy thought patterns, at the end of the day, they are still thoughts. So it makes sense that a simple, earnest modification of my thoughts would make a difference. And it has.
I think I'll try meditation before consuming content. Especially text. A little ritual, like tea, or stretching.