August

Let’s call the guy dancing in this video “Marc” for the duration of this blog. Marc is the 18 year old version of me. 

In this video, Marc had to drive to two different friend’s houses to pick them up, then drive to the parking lot of McDonalds to hangout with them, then drop them back off at their houses. That level of effort is what made the night special and memorable. The entertainment you wanted had to be earned, it wasn’t available in your pocket.

When Marc was younger, every August felt like a fresh start. New clothes. New hairstyle. New backpack. Every year he believed this would be the version of himself that was more confident, more courageous, more outgoing. It took me years to realize that changing your appearance is easy. Becoming the person you imagine takes something much less exciting—consistent effort.

I have a reoccurring scenario play in my mind of meeting Marc and how that would go. I’d like to think he’d park his car off the street because there would be no room in the driveway, and I’d like to think that alone would impress him. 

Knowing myself, aka Marc, he would be nervous walking into the house, take his shoes off at the door without anybody asking. 

He’d probably be confused on why I have a Nintendo Wii in my living room when he himself outgrew it. The explanation I would give him about why I have the Wii would unexpectedly be the focal point of the conversation: why are you trying to reconnect with Marc when Marc is trying to become August?

The answer to that is ironic. Marc turned 18 in a time where smartphones existed but did not rule our lives. He didn’t know for certain which of his friends did or did not like him as much as he liked them because he didn’t have access to their thoughts. 

I’d tell him our music dream required more sacrifice than I was willing to make back then. Ironically, by the time I became willing to make that sacrifice, the industry had become obsessed with numbers instead of connection…where we measure ourselves based on followers, likes, shares, comments, and all types of bullshit that doesn’t mean anything because it can be bought. 

When Marc had social media, his feed was a window into the lives of the people he chose to care about. Today it feels like a slot machine. Instead of showing us the people we love, it shows us whatever keeps us scrolling.

I would tell Marc that I’ve met many people whose content is objectively better than ours, but not once have I met someone who lives the life we dreamt of living.

You know what the Nintendo Wii needed to work? Effort and connection. You couldn’t just turn on the console and play, you actually had to make an effort to point the controller at the connection bar to effectively play. Also, it wasn’t nearly as fun without someone else being in the room with you.

That’s why I’m trying to reconnect with you, Marc. When I see this video, I see a guy who is connected to his friends and not giving a fuck who judges him for the way he does it.

Yes, we are August now, but the irony is that August isn’t free like you are, Marc. August spent so much time at war he forgot how to function in peace. He forgot how to sing & dance in the car. He’s mentally trying to rebuild the part of him that created from love & enjoyment rather than for engagement.

The problem isn’t that we’re connected all the time. It’s that connection no longer requires anything from us. We have unlimited access to each other but very little investment in each other. Maybe that’s why I miss the version of me who had less access but deeper connections. This August, I’ll reconnect by disconnecting.

See you in September.