A Return


I had this idea, far back in the mists of ancient time, that when I wrote something on the internet it was for something. In my earliest LiveJournal days I thought I would meet like-minded angsty twenty-somethings or offer new perspectives on living in Japan. With the podcast, I thought I would attract my own salon of readers, and with each episode we would meet in the comments sections to talk about books and reading.

Even here, I wrote in the belief that somehow sharing my sliver of the human experience would somehow become significant. That it would add to the vast sea of shared knowledge and make the world richer in some way.

To the best of my knowledge, none of that has happened.

I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t disappointing – the whole gold rush of blogging in the early-to-mid 2000’s basically promised a new kind of fame if you could attract the right people and a big enough audience, and there was certainly a time when that was something like what I wanted. But, like Mick and the boys say, you can’t always get what you want.

With disappointment comes reflection, though. I had to reflect on what it was I was really doing when I wrote these blogs or recorded those podcasts or even when I sent a tweet out into the world. The fact is that the universe (or at least the part of it represented by the internet) is indifferent to what I want. If I try writing for fame or attention or even a minimal kind of validation from the outside world, I will be disappointed.

It is better, then, to remember why I should be writing. Because there are things that I need to say, and that will drive me mad if I don’t. If I haven’t been adding to this blog, it was probably because I felt that I didn’t have anything to say. The question I need to ask myself is whether I truly believed that, or if I was simply convinced that no one would read what I wrote. I hate to believe that the former is true, but it shames me to think that the latter would be.

Maybe both. I’m not sure.

Anyway, I’ve been shaken out of my stupor by the events of the last few days. In a world where Trump can be elected president, silence really isn’t an option. More on that in the next post.

Thanksgiving, Day 5: Paper Clips

Clearly I have lost my mind. Paper clips? Really? Do I not have enough ideas that I have to start scrambling around in the office supply cabinet now?

No, at least not for the reasons you’re thinking. But we are talking paper clips today, or more to the point what paper clips represent, and how they changed my perspective on a lot of the everyday things that litter the world around me.

I can see FOREVER.

I wish I’d been stoned when I thought of this, because it totally sounds like the kind of thing that you would come up with when you’re stoned. Alas, I haven’t touched the Demon Weed in a very, very long time, so it was my own brain that managed to think the following thought: a paper clip tells us almost everything we need to know about mankind. If an alien wanted to know about our species, a paper clip could provide it with a treasure trove of information.

First of all, the physical thing itself. It’s made of steel, and that fact alone says a lot. It means we’ve learned how to work metal and create alloys, as steel does not occur in nature. Just figuring that out took millennia of trial and error, and that was even before we figured out how to make good steel. On top of that, it’s small. If the alien were presented with a single clip, it might conclude that it was made with very precise tools and by an experienced craftsman, much in the way jewelry is done.

But then we dump out a whole box of these on the alien’s desk. Maybe take a few and bend them up to make a little sculpture or something, or combine them with a rubber band to make a slingshot of deadly inaccuracy… Well, now the alien figures we can’t possibly have that many master craftsmen hanging around, personally bending every clip to perfect, identical dimensions. We must have mastered mass production, the ability to quickly and cheaply turn out vast quantities of nearly identical things.

What’s more, they speak of our planet’s richness of resources – and our ability to harvest them – that we’re able to use so much steel to create something that is clearly disposable. In other eras, even that much steel might have been treasured, or even hoarded. The paper clip speaks of a rich world, inhabited by a species that is skilled at using its resources.

Then the alien says, “Okay – but what is it for?”

“It’s for clipping sheets of paper together. Paper. Clip. This isn’t rocket science, guys.”

We need paper clips because we have paper. In fact, we have so much paper that we have to organize it together on a regular basis. This speaks again of our abilities in resource management and mass production, what with having so much paper. It’s not just that we need a special device to hold it together because we like paper bundles, but that we use it as a primary way of conveying information. They can infer that we have a written language, and perhaps even that there exist organizational structures that require the movement of carefully organized packets of paper from one place to another.

Then, if we abandon the alien conceit for a moment, the clip tells us about the universe and our place in it. We can ask where the iron and carbon in that steel came from, taking us to the evolution of the mining industry and basic smelting, our mastery of fire and all that came with it. We can look at how seams of ore are laid into the Earth’s crust and speculate how they got there – the movement of strata due to tectonic upheavals, and the initial era when the planet accreted out of space dust. Our search eventually leads us all the way back to the catastrophic explosion that occurred in the heart of a star countless millennia ago, where all these atoms were generated in an instant of heat and pressure the likes of which we can never truly understand…

The paper clip itself is a map of human history, and a guide back to the earliest days of the universe.

Not you, Clippy. You suck.

But, then again, so is nearly anything you have stuffed in a drawer somewhere. Every object in your home has a physical history that ties it back through the ages, that ties it to countless inventors and workers and discoverers. That ties it back to the origins of the universe itself.

If we were truly aware of how significant everything around us is, we would never get anything done.

Perhaps what I am thankful for, then, is not really the paper clip. It’s the way my mind’s eye opens up when I hold one and really think about what it is. It’s that curiosity, that wonderment about the universe – that ability to ask questions and find answers – that I’m truly thankful for. The paper clip is simply a tiny, convenient symbol for that.