Amanda Harris

Since 2016, my morning ritual has revolved around Spotify. I would wake up, unlock my phone, and then play the first song that my nucleus accumbens would spit out. This ritual became both a soothing routine and a pattern of enjoyment, on the same level as food or a pleasurable workout. In that sense, I became married to Spotify. It became my confidante and source of joy, as well as an excuse to feed my need to avoid socializing in public places. To that end, I think my relationship with Spotify is, at best, relatable and, at worst, a cautionary tale.

According to Google, 45% of Millennials use Spotify or have Spotify accounts, compared with 35% of Generation Z. Of the two generations, Millennials are estimated to spend more than two hours a day on Spotify, making my generation the one that spends the most time on the platform. Of course, that study fails to screen for factors such as financial privilege or Spotify's ability to meet users' musical expectations. What it did reinforce in my mind, once I quit Spotify, was the stereotype of the Millennial baby who constantly needs a fix of both instant gratification and the use of instant gratification to justify a need to isolate. We see this frequently in artificial intelligence (AI) commercials. Why socialize when ChatGPT can give us a cute cat video that blocks out the annoying baby in the doctor's office?

Behind all this arguing and postulating lies a question that nags like a stye: Why, given the amount of joy the internet can provide, would I choose to cancel my music streaming services in favor of an old iPod? Below, I will detail my experiences reverting to older technology and hope that they can do something similar for you.

The Price Tag

Services like Tidal, Apple Music, and Spotify generally start out free and then become low-cost. Once you start using those services, their need becomes instinctual, the way that food becomes instinctual. It was not at all abnormal for me, as a former user, to keep my music playing within minutes of waking up. When the phone bill increased as a result of my time on Spotify, my answer was simple: Upgrade. At the time I decided to stop using the service, my Spotify bill alone was $21 a month—more than enough for a week's worth of coffee.

It Cuts Us Off From Each Other

Earlier, I gave the example of the crying baby in the doctor's office. Keeping earbuds in during such visits simultaneously cancels out the noise of the baby and allows us to be discerning listeners. It allows us to govern what noises we hear around us and, with the rise of AI, use the sounds we like to create our own music. This creativity wouldn't be offensive to me except that, because of the constant noise, we are unable to hear what is going on around us.

It Reinforces the Need for Nonstop Internet Connectivity

In my teenage years, teachers warned my generation that technology, if we did not learn to regulate it, would lead us to become adults who were constantly asocial because of the constant presence of instant gratification. At that time, I could not have imagined the ways in which internet agencies would dip their claws into our culture and then twist their agendas until those agendas became one with our own.

There are those who might say that reverting to the iPod as a way of saying no to streaming is either extreme or detached. Those who do not understand the comparatively simplistic pleasure of pressing the play button and then going frequently either have not attempted to quit streaming services or have quit and then reverted. Those who attempt the challenge will probably find, as I did, that the iPod is both more about pleasure and less about being a crutch. There are many times when I hear a baby crying in the doctor's office and my earbuds are unable to cancel out the sound. That is always a sign to me that it is time to put my technology away and be present in the moment. There is something both rewarding and gratifying about that doctor's office visit—a new sound or seeing someone who wasn't there the next time. If you feel you either cannot or would not be able to leave Big Internet while you're out, I cannot change your mind. I can only share my experiences.

Many consider writing, generally speaking, to be a loner's profession. You sit alone. You think alone. You write alone. What those who think about writing do not tell you is the significance and power of community in a profession so centered around loneliness. This article addresses the significance of community and how to spot a community-oriented writer who would make a supportive friend.

Before I start, the first thing I want to do is define community.

A community of writers is one in which writers support one another by sending supportive messages and demonstrating that support in physical and online spaces. Messages saying things like "Good luck!" can make all the difference when you are putting yourself out there and submitting to a magazine that is statistically more likely to reject you than accept you.

When you are in a community of writers, remember that "Good luck" carries much more weight than silence and that "Good luck" can make all the difference in the mood of a writer about to hit the submit button.

Having talked about the importance of community, the next question I am going to address is what that community looks like.

I have said earlier in this article that community is emotionally supportive. I am going to add the word "empathetic" to this discussion for the following reason: I have been in literary groups where there is only reciprocation or where the only accepted activity is listening. As a result, only some of the people in the room are heard.

This kind of behavior—which I will call expected listening—conditions some of the writers in the room to think their contributions should not be verbalized and conditions other writers to overshare. Look for groups that prioritize equal sharing and recommend those groups to newer writers looking for community.

The importance of community cannot be overstated. Our literary world is rife with issues related to socialization—namely, that it systematically ignores writers who may be shyer or writers who may be conditioned, due to social and political factors, not to speak. Instead of using tactics that may make them feel welcome (i.e., calling on minorities at academic conventions), we casually pass over those writers and do nothing when other, more privileged writers feel freer to speak.

In peer advocacy, we call the practice of speaking when you are not called on to speak "cross talk."

When you spot "cross talk," you are encouraged to disallow it or clearly articulate the problem surrounding "cross talk"—namely, that it systematically praises those who speak the loudest. "Cross talk" is an epidemic in the literary community, one we have not taken the time to research or understand. It is only through its careful dismantling that we can make a safer and more enjoyable space.

Reductive Discussions

Reductive discussions are discussions I define as being about light or dark, right or wrong, creating an overly simple language system that is all about opposites. Contemporary culture makes it easy to either think in those terms or to have discussions in those terms. We either like our toast buttered or dry. We either want our rooms light or dark. The result makes it difficult for us to have discussions that are greater than the sum of their parts. The purpose of this article is not just to encourage greater thought inside adulthood but outside as well.

Before discussing how to remedy the situation, I think it is necessary to map out how reductive thought begins. Childhood math teaches us that 2 + 2 = 4. It cannot be anything except four, and any answer that is not four is incorrect. This kind of sound logic works inside the math classroom but conditions us to come to the table with absolute, reductive thinking. The only way to make the company grow is by increasing its sales. That is the right answer, and nothing else will do.

You can see how reductive thinking can poison the mind and dominate the will. The question, then, is how to overcome reductive thinking. This article will provide a few possible alternative methods for problem-solving:

1. Try to gather as much information as possible.
2. Gathering more information can open the mind and condition it to accept new worldviews, forcing it to repel reductive thinking.
3. Do not assume only one answer is correct.
4. The trap of reductive thinking is that it conditions us to believe there is only one right answer when, in fact, there are several. Imagining several possible scenarios instead of settling on one is not only more effective, businesswise—it can make you a better communicator.
5. Walk away.
6. In a situation where reductive thinking surrounds you, it can feel impossible to be heard. Instead of enabling conflict, try walking into more inclusive discussions and away from discussions that are hurtful.

The above article outlines reductive discussions and their harm. I hope that the workplace not only benefits from its methods in practice but also from the ideas behind them.