• It was quite some time ago now that Moses ascended the mountain, and returned with a set of rules that changed the world.

    Don’t steal.
    Don’t fuck your friend’s woman.
    Don’t talk shit about God.

    If we strip any modern cynicism we may have about such religious doctrine, what I think we see is that his commandments represent something extraordinary. They are higher truths, seen in a transcendent moment, that can then be encoded, and remembered when one returns to “ordinary reality”. And thus act as a pathway back up, slowly, toward the higher truth.

    His commandments (or Gods depending upon whom you attribute authorship to) changed the world. They enabled our ancestors of the time to divert themselves away from the chief problems (sins) of the time, and live a more wholesome life.

    But times have changed.

    The great sins of our times are not what they were. My great challenge is not to refrain from the irresistible urge to steal my neighbours donkey. Moses’ commandments have done their job. We have new problems that we must learn to overcome.

    I believe that one of the great modern sins, for which we need new commandments, is that of distraction, specifically digital distraction.

    So here are 6 commandments for a new digital age.

    1.  Thou shalt not be a digital narcissist

    The wonders of the world are not a backdrop for your Instagram selfies. The privilege to travel the world is not supposed to be used as a means for enhancing your social media profile.

    I visited Stonehenge recently. One of the world’s most important megalithic sites—an absolute wonder of ancient engineering and astronomical observation. It’s formation perfectly aligns with the setting sun at Winter Solstice, and the rising sun at Summer Solstice. We know that people from all over the British Isles travelled to Stonehenge to participate in the most important ceremonies of the age. This majestic site oozes significance.

    And yet as I stood marvelling at its nature, breathing in the power of the place, I was distracted by the people around me. They would pose for selfies, seeing these great stones in the little pixelated screens of their iPhones, and then turn and walk away without actually looking at the stones!

    The unprecedented power of the social platforms we have been given access to, are not best used as stages for our own digital narcissism. The fulfilment does not come from the performance you manufacture, crafted from carefully posed selfies in front of Notre Dame, but of the spiritual substance that you draw in as you walk its hallowed nave.

    You can communicate to untold numbers of fellow humans from this platform. Share what can change us. Not what makes you feel more special.

    2.  Thou shalt not incessantly pull the lever on the smart-phone slot machine

    Let me just check again…

    Even though it’s only been 17 seconds since I last checked Facebook, …maybe there’s something good there now. The elusive comment that makes my day worth living. The fiftieth “like” that will banish the cloud of meaninglessness from my mind. Or maybe I’ve got a new whatsapp message that will prove that I am actually loved after all.

    So we keep pulling the lever on the digital slot machine, hoping for a jackpot. Pulling out our phone, and going through a patterned cycle of checks. If you pay attention, you may see that you have an ingrained loop. Mine goes something like this.

    1. co.uk/sport to check if there’s some new football news.
    2. co.uk/sport, just in case they have news the bbc doesn’t.
    3. twitter to see what latest outrage has been committed by the politically correct gestapo.
    4. youtube to see if there’s a new Jordan Peterson upload, or ultimate fail video.
    5. Nothing? Start the cycle again. After all, it’s been at least 2 minutes since I checked BBC sport.

    What’s your cycle? When you’re checking out of the present, and open up your internet browser, or pickup your phone, where’s the first place you go?

    It’s the new addiction. Hunting the little dopamine hit that is injected into our neurochemistry when we find some interesting new article we can feel smart from pretending to read. The little oxytocin boost from 3 more likes on our Stonehenge selfie.

    I watch over people’s shoulder on the Amsterdam metro, circling through their own digital loops.

    Facebook. Whatsapp. Instagram. LinkedIn. Repeat.

    And then even if they give up and return the phone to their handbag, I can measure it in minutes before they whip it out again and start again from the beginning.

    As a friend used say “there’s no cheese down that tube”. You will not find what you seek. The sense of achievement that the dopamine urge tempts you with. The feeling of social inclusion that the oxytocin craving promises.

    Each pull of the lever increases the urge to pull it again next time.

    Put down the phone. Raise your eyes. Soften your clench. Notice the world around you.

    3.  Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s social media profile

    It doesn’t do any good my friend.

    We’re wired to seek the top of the social hierarchy. We want to “master our craft” and be “seen for our gifts”.

    Jordan Peterson brilliantly describes the sad state of affairs we now find ourselves in, in the digital age. Before the internet, it wasn’t so hard to be top of your tree. Being the best yogi in the village isn’t so hard. Being a regional expert on post-structuralism intersectional theory is attainable. The competition is relatively thin. The rewards of reaching the top within your grasp.

    Now we live in a world where we’re connected to almost every other competent human alive. The hierarchy now no longer tops out at the borders of the village or town. No matter how good you think you might be at your particular craft, opening up YouTube and having a quick search will reveal the prodigy that does stuff that you couldn’t even imagine, and has the 2 million views that proves it.

    Feeling insecure about the state of your work? The longing for the dopamine will take you onto your Facebook feed, where you will discover posts from your friends that depict the amazing client they just signed, or the workshop they just crushed. You’ll see all your friends having an amazing time…without you.

    The promise of dopamine has provided the opposite. You feel even worse that when you started. No problem. Just open up the next app in your cycle. Maybe there…

    No. The goal is self-realization. Emphasis on self. Not “having what she’s got”, not “better than him”. Self improvement. Or in the wise words of Dr. Peterson, compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not who someone else is today.

    This is much more easily achieved when you’re not constantly snooping on the successes of others through their social media profiles.

    4.  Thou shalt not perpetuate political outrage

    No matter which side of the fence you find yourself on—the social justice crew, working to level the playing field, or the secret intellectual web that is trying to keep back the tides of madness—don’t stir up the shit any further.

    Incessant outrage about the state of the world, penned in 140 characters does little to move the conversation forward, and will more likely simply irritate you and derail the more important work that you should actually be doing.

    Making yourself righteous by pushing off the wrongness of the “other side” is not noble. It’s shit stirring. It’s dehumanization. It doesn’t help us weave this unprecedented complexity into a human story that makes sense to us.

    But spouting your passionate condemnation of the madness of this leader, or that policy does help with something big. It helps give you the feeling that you have something important to say. It helps you feel like you’re making a difference. You’re not. But it covers over the hole in your true desire to make a difference.

    So instead, go make a real difference.

    5.  Thou shalt not sell your attention to the highest bidder

    You may think, that you are the valued customer of Facebook or Instagram.  In fact, you are not. You are the product. The customers are the advertisers, who are offered your attention by the platform.

    Attention is precious. And every time you mindlessly lose yours in the never ending scroll of the news feed, you have sold yours to the highest bidder.

    In 1997, IBM’s super computer Deep Blue achieved a world first. It beat the world’s best chess player Gary Kasparov. It was a triumph of Artificial Intelligence over the human mind.

    What you may not know is that the Facebook Newsfeed, and YouTube’s recommended videos are also run by A.I. And power of this A.I. is hundreds of times more powerful than the computer that beat Kasparov. The Social Media A.I. has one objective only, to capture your attention for as long as possible.

    So, every time you log onto Facebook, you’re playing attention chess against an some of the most powerful A.I. ever invented. And you don’t even realise it.

    Your attention  is so much more valuable than its commodification for online advertisers. What could you use it for?

    6.  Thou shalt befriend airplane mode

    Every phone has one. It’s designed for—as the name implies—use on airplanes. It turns off your Wi-Fi and phone signal. It stops all contact with the outside world.

    We’ve never lived in such a connected world. Your ability to disconnect is what sets you apart from the masses. This is Cal Newport’s “deep work”—the space where free from distraction, you focus on the work that really matters to you, and create something meaningful.

    When you sit down to do something important, tune out the world around you. Looking at your phone because your mum just whatsapp’d you to ask about the summer vacation plans does not help you do the deep work.

    Try this. When you go to bed, put your phone on airplane mode. And don’t take it off until you’ve done at least an hour of focussed work the next morning. If you’re used to checking your messages as soon as you open your bleary ideas, this may feel uncomfortable. It’s your reliance on outside stimulation. The good stuff comes from inside. Give it a chance to speak before you connect with the entire planet.

    What’s really needed is the deep work

    The work that comes from deep inside you. The stuff that only you can create. The stuff that is the product of deep, focussed and dedicated hard graft.

    And the entire interconnected world is available to receive it, if you create it.

    The great sin that has arisen to counter-act this interconnected freedom is distraction. In that moment, when your work really requires you to sit in the uncomfortable paradox, the problem that you don’t yet know how to solve—it’s so much easier to just pick up your phone and relieve the pressure.

    Just this once. I’ll rest for a moment.

    And then you surface some indeterminate time later, infected by the successes and outrages of everyone else, dulled by the passive surfing on a tiny screen, robbed of the moment of tension that had within it, the creative seeds for something new, something deep.

    Choose differently.

    The world desperately wants the deep work, to help us steer through the addictive distractions of a digital world.

    Ewan Townhead

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  • There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to be conscious – to feel, to actually notice what’s going on around me

    And so when I’m not looking, it sneaks around behind me and steps into me, putting his hands inside my hands.

    When I can’t find a way to say what I want to say as I write, he takes over, gets up and smokes a cigarette.

    When I don’t know what to do with my discomfort and anxiety at the great work project in front of me, he rescues me, and I turn to Facebook and divulge myself of the responsibility of feeling myself.

    When I can’t find a way to be with the grief and longing in my heart, he steps in swiftly and feeds me cheesecake and pasta, and all the feelings melt away in culinary overwhelm.

    These are my time disruptors. They are the crutches of my attention. The habits that I can always lean on when the present moment becomes something I want no part of.

    The magnificence of the moment hides itself from me as I look for solace out in the future, that imagined reality where I will finally have resolved all my problems. Or in the memories of the past, where I look for the reasons I can’t find what I’m now looking for.

    All the while, the gift of this moment goes unclaimed.

    I’m sorry sweetheart, I neglect you don’t I?

    And then there it is, the utterly simple beauty of noticing now. The way the candle flame flickers and reminds me that time is moving. The miracle of a roof, and a glass of wine, and the fact I get to spend my time writing things like this.

    Ewan Townhead

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  • He whispered to me this morning while I was making coffee. Amongst the sound of the grinding of beans, his voice spoke through my own lips.

    “This is not the way.”

    He didn’t refer to the way I was grinding the beans. I don’t think he has much to say on that subject. He was speaking to the larger grind. The grind of life.

    He meant the way I feel sorry for myself when things don’t go my way. The way I isolate myself when I feel ashamed. The way I silence myself when I feel angry.

    “This is not the way.”

    Not lounging in self-depreciating clouds of cigarette smoke and self-righteous armchair philosophy. Not maintaining my masks of professional competence and success. Not running away from love, from opportunity, because I don’t want to be tied down.

    That way leads full circle, to the source of my complaint.

    “I’m special, and no-one sees it” cries my ego.

    And the weight of his accusation mounts on the evidence table. The momentum of my writing, slowing to a dutiful march. The scores of likes on my Facebook posts, dried up in the political massacre. And more damning that all of it, the unshakable feeling that I’m off track, lost down some overgrown siding.

    I’ve fucked it up.

    That’s what the other guy says. The one who lurks in the recesses of my mind. He’s always there, the compulsive pessimist who doesn’t want to see me fall in pursuit of avarice.

    I’m running out of options. The escape routes keep bringing me back to the same room, where the walls are closing in and the rats have already scarpered.

    I sit down in the corner, light up another joint. Maybe this way I can see through the fog. Maybe I just need one more high to finally break through to the truth.

    And as the medicine takes hold I forget the question and sink down into the comfort of my dream. Until the effects inevitably wane, and I notice the walls again. They’re moving slowly enough that I don’t panic, and fast enough that I know I can’t stay here much longer.

    I reach for another chunk of hazelnut chocolate.

    “This is not the way.” He says.

    Well what is the fucking way oh great oracle? I’m pissed. The scorn is desperation, not hatred. Give me the map shit-face, I’m dying down here.

    He doesn’t answer. He just looks me full in the eye in that unwavering way he has. He loves me. That’s what makes him so infuriating.

    I pause. Something in me doesn’t run away like I’ve been doing a lot lately. I sit with him. He looks like Jesus, but he feels like me.

    Time slows down. I hear the hum of the refrigerator in the corner. The distant sounds of the world outside going about its business. I feel it, the poignancy of the moment. This moment. The one I can feel when I soften my searching. The one I can taste when I open my mouth and breathe it in.

    The one that holds the entire history of the universe, and the unknown future of all there is. Balanced, exquisitely.

    This. This is the way isn’t it?

    He doesn’t say anything, he just smiles.

    This place. The one where I keep walking, as slow as I possibly can, so that I notice just how beautiful the landscape is. The one where I choose each step, not from strategy, but from attention. The lift of my knee, the reaching of my toes, the planting of my foot, the casting of my gaze. One more step. Then one more step. Then one more step.

    What’s the way? I ask him.

    He doesn’t say anything. But I feel my heart break. Just a little, like the first crack on the surface of an egg as what is inside makes its way to what is outside.

    I’m scared. I tell him.

    He nods, in his bamboozlingly beautiful way. A nod that contains both bottomless compassion, and utter neutrality. I don’t know how he does that.

    I am scared. I’m scared of getting punched. Or laughed at. I feel just like I did when I was a little boy at Lowfield Primary School. My unconscious and innocent eccentricity met with unconscious and innocent ridicule.

    I had the wrong shoes. I cried when boys weren’t supposed to cry. I didn’t fit their society, I stood out, which wasn’t a good thing in working-class Sheffield.

    “You’re a man now.” He says.

    I don’t feel like one. I say before I think about it. I feel like a fraud.

    “That’s what makes you beautiful.” He says.

    He’s got me. Clever little fucker. He knows exactly where my weak spots are. He turns my own arguments against me. And I know exactly what he means.

    It’s the way of revelation.

    Not the kind of revelation accompanied by angels’ harps and priests and holy oppression. It’s the path that reveals. Uncovering what once was covered. Disclosing what was once locked away. Showing what was once held in shame.

    It’s not about me. It’s not some faux-vulnerability where I wash my dirty laundry on Facebook (I tried that – the high lasted as long as the social news cycle). It’s about revealing what I see.

    The world I see.

    The one that delicately surrenders itself as I look into my woman’s eyes, and see how deeply she loves me. The one that pulls the rug from under my complacency as I remember what truly fires me up. The one that brightens someone else’s down-trodden day as I tell them about mine.

     “That’s the way.” He says, and turns away to leave me to my gratitude.

     

    Ewan Townhead

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