A Blank Sheet of Paper

This is a blank sheet of paper.

But now it isn't. Consider how the awareness of one’s being changes the state of one's being.

What am I? I am a human being. But I am a human being (or a man or a student or a writer or a parent or a fucking astronaut) that is aware of what I am. As a result of being aware, I create a label for myself, a label of what I am. And I apply that label to myself. In the process of applying that label to myself, I change what I am. I change how I behave. I do not act as merely a human being (or merely an astronaut or merely a parent). I act as someone aware of what a human being is, as someone aware of how I do or do not fit this definition of a human being, as someone aware of how I need to change my behavior in order to better fit this definition. I don pretense and become artificial.

But I still am aware, just now I am aware of how artificial my being has become. And so, because of this awareness, I change my being. I strove to be more authentic. But isn't it impossible to be authentic if I, fully aware of my inauthenticity, am artificially changing my behavior in order to become something?

A case study: Johnny hears a song on the radio and enjoys it. In his enjoyment, he thinks of nothing. But he soon hears the song again. And he becomes explicitly aware of his enjoyment of the song. He looks up the band. It's Metallica. "I like Metallic," Johnny says. "I am a fan of Metallica." So Johnny buys a Metallica t-shirt. He buys their entire discography and he goes to their concerts. Why does he do this? He is a fan of Metallica. He, aware of what it is to be a Metallica fan and aware of how he needs to act in order to fulfill that definition, has acted as a Metallica fan by changing his behavior to become a Metallica fan.

But then Johnny becomes aware of the mask he has created for himself. Maybe he realizes that he doesn't really like Metallica that much, he just likes that one song. He is not a Metallica fan; he is merely a person who enjoys a bit of Metallica. So he drops the act. But then what does he become? A pure and authentic human being or does he create for himself another mask? What if he hears and enjoys another Metallica song? Does he eschew it and ignore his enjoyment of the song because he is no longer a person who likes Metallica? Or does he allow his sincere enjoyment sneak through the definition he has applied to himself?

I think, therefore I am, therefore I must act in accordance with what I am.

What if all of human behavior is nothing more than a shallow attempt to conform to the labels we have applied to ourselves, labels that result from our awareness of what we are and what we would like to become?

When I introduce myself, I say my name. I say “Hello professor, I am Chris Huebner.” What are the implications of that? What is “Chris Huebner”?

That declaration (“I am…”) is horrifying. “Chris Huebner” is not who I am. It’s who I have acted as for my entire life. When I was eight years old, some past version of me spat out a piece of tomato. I didn’t like the taste of it. Or maybe it was just he that didn’t like the taste of it. Regardless, that dislike of tomatoes became a part of “Chris Huebner.” It was included in all the experiences and memories that define my identity. That is part of what it means to be “Chris Huebner.” He doesn’t like tomatoes. Do I like tomatoes? The answer isn’t “yes” or “no”. The answer is that I am Chris Huebner, and Chris Huebner does not like tomatoes and I am Chris Huebner.

So what does it mean to exist, not as the vague “me” but as a specific character, one which we have created and applied to ourselves?

If I am able to declare that I am something, I immediately prove that I am not that something. I am, instead, a thing aware that I closely fit the definition of something and I am a thing that is now trying very hard to fit exactly that definition of something. I don the persona that I have created or society has created for me. Then I become artificial and fake. Then I lose my authenticity and my humanity. I allow my cold, callous and rational awareness of self to feed me lines, tell me what to or what not to be. I become what I am not by trying to become what I am trying so damn hard to be.

I am a fucking idiot.

And that is the trouble with awareness. That is the impossibility of authenticity.

The Hipster: Death of Sincerity?

If the recent rise of the Hipster is at all to represent the attitude of a future generation of adults, it seems as if the world will in trouble. At least that’s what some people think. And they could be right.

Let’s first define the Hipster. He is an individual who does not care. He or she thinks caring is stupid or uncool. Instead, the Hipster’s perception is filtered with a heavy sense of sarcasm. They don’t like (insert here anything that the Hipster would claim to “like”) because it gives them pleasure or enjoyment or a sense of accomplishment. They like (insert here anything that the Hipster would claim to “like”) because of some ironic statement they are able to apply to it. His self-conception is that of a lone rebel. But his rebellion is carefully constructed and entirely artificial. His identity superficially defined by arbitrary statements to be made against “the man” and/or “the system.”

Fundamental to the Hipster is this attitude. He sneers instead of smiles. He slowly nods his head in pretentious affirmation, instead of bobbing it in in excited agreement. He gives a restrained roll of the eyes to signify dismissal, instead of an angry outburst. Nothing is unfettered from the bonds of pretense. Nothing is sincere and everything is contrived.[1]

The greatest threat to the Hipster, and thus its most important target, is sincerity. Genuine expression, pure and straight from the heart, burns the soul of the Hipster like sunlight burns the skin of a glittering vampire. True love of anything stabs their heart like a knife. So they mock it. Soft chuckles and rolls of the eyes are the Hipster’s main weapons against any sincere desire, any unfiltered passion.

So what will happen without sincerity? Simply put, things get dull. Announcing one’s deepest and most personal desires, sharing unabashedly one’s purest joys, creates vulnerability. Vulnerability risks pain and rejection (perhaps why some cloak themselves so heavily in sarcasm and cynicism). But that vulnerability, if one can endure it endure it, brings with it understanding, of the self and of others. It brings the highest joy, this unrestrained indulgence in pure passion. Here is the emotional equivalent of walking a tightrope with not safety gear or of surviving a firefight with a group of close buddies.

The baring of one’s soul is the riskiest decision a human can make, but it can sometimes be the most rewarding.

And the Hipster could change all of that. Expression has already become more ironic. Justin Bieber recently met with the Prime Minister of his home country and, instead of allowing himself to be actually excited about the invitation, he preemptively mocked the entire event by showing up in some bullshit overall outfit. That is the pervasion of the Hipster ethic. Love will disappear, and instead everyone will tell long term partners they “like-like them.” In every picture, instead of posing and smiling normally, people will make funny faces, embarrassing themselves on purpose to prevent anyone from making fun of them.

I’m reminded of Danny Zuko chasing after Sandra Dee. He was laid back; he had a cool flying car and he had a neat hairstyle. Then he met a girl and sincerely applied himself in an attempt to win her over. He joined the track team. He sucked up to the coach. He embarrassed himself by wearing really short running shorts in public. He even ran. He did everything that he could in order to reverse the image that he had created of being the totally cool bad boy.

And all the while, throughout all of this sincerity, this genuine expression, his friends, his social group – actually most of the school – laugh at him. They mock him. They cannot understand – or do not seem capable of understanding – what would take cause such a cool kid to recklessly toss aside his coolness. These young punks failed to realize what it means to truly care, to care so much about one thing that caring about other things just doesn’t matter as much.

Maybe “The Hipster” and her sense of irony has deep roots. But his rise to near societal dominance is recent. Hopefully the tide in the war for sincerity can be turned.

It’s alright to love and look stupid. You should celebrate when you jump with excitement and fall flat on your face. You should relish the moments when you reach out your hand and get slapped in the face. Because one day you’ll hug someone without any pretension and you’ll feel their heart beating against your chest and you’ll understand why the world exists. At least I hope so.

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[1] Please consider the attitude of the person before labeling them as “Hipster.” The Hipster, or at least the truly dangerous Hipster, are not people who wear plaid shirts. They don’t wear thick-rimmed glasses. They don’t wear skinny jeans.

Back in the 70’s my mom had long hair and wore bellbottoms and flower prints. But she was as much of a conservative WASP as can be imagined.