Or Is It?

“Well, that was dramatic?.,!”

Precarious times call for precarious measures. In 1711, Joseph Addison pondered in Spectator Magazine. He opined precarious as “depending on the will or pleasure of another.” This generational genius written over 300 years ago set in the prefix of Latin origin which traces meaning(s) to entreaty or prayer. Well. That is a mouthful.

Depending on your will. Little if any room for a consolation prize to say the least. Either feast or famine, up or down. Win or lose. Where is the troubled middle.? Which way to go. Which way to aspire to go. Who knows. How can I fudge a belief system to get there? How do I play it.? The more drama the better, right? Just because I can, does it mean I should? Who would I even go to to ask? Negative sells.

Crying real tears really does dehydrate a person. Fact. One only needs to have suffered the loss of a loved one to know this drama. Unless you are an actor. A really good actor. Crying fake tears, well, that is fairly easy to do. There is specific training that goes into this dramatic acting skill. Lights, camera, action!

The moment we open our eyes to closing them at night we are inundated with the stories of the day. Our own stories, our neighbors’ stories, national stories, global stories, stories some solicit others to learn—a genre in 1711 that used be the the essence of true journalistic information. To write in a journal is to keep track of information in its most fundamental forms. Information to present to the reader with and of their own freedom to choose. A skill that is sometimes innate, learned and honed. Discernment a prerequisite.

Today, we are deluged and drowning in drama which flies across our screens. And life stories can be so watered down we have become desensitized to the importance of life and inadvertently cheering and clapping for our fellow human actors. Oftentimes, we do not even know what happened. What did happened. Wait. Really? Gosh I watched a video of another young male bringing a gun to school to shoot fellow classmates. While others cowered behind their school desks. Another swerving car drove through a crowd of people at a parade. People literally flying in the air to their deaths. Individuals running into drug stores and leaving with bags of items without paying. What is happening in front of my face. A wildfire blazing close to people’s houses. Rather than recording or calling for help, watching, why am I.

Well, that was dramatic.

Drama at our fingertips. Hurray.!? Ways to become famous in an instant? Yes!! I am so down with that. Except. No. Please no. I am asserting my dramatic self here and pleading no more, I cannot stand to watch. Unfortunately, perhaps similar to an addict, due to our attention spans and our inner curious cat, gapers if you will, we become forced to engage and watch sans any self restraint. We are involved in the drama before we may even realize our position. Because it requires less effort??...OMG. Am I in the production. I have no real skills other than hitting the play button. Maybe I AM a top notch dramatic actor. Maybe I have arrived. But I do NOT want to be HERE. Or THERE. Not at all.

There are genuinely heartbreaking situations being played out on the streets and not on stages. Being recorded by bystanders and pedestrians before and after there is a moment to breathe. Sold to the highest bidder in an instant. In older and some might say, more authentic times, skills of talent required persons to build. Foundational building. The skill to measure, draw paint, and most of all discern. To have to try out for a role instead of receiving the benefits of a participation certificate or trophy. The hard work. The skill of set building, stage crew, line learning, singing, dancing, costume designing, rehearsal after rehearsal. Together. Navigating the conflicts, setbacks, and successes.

Show Time”!!!!!!! A real production of talent and persons devoted to the show appeal and success. For the benefit enjoyment of all who chose to attend. Not just the few. Who could not, did not or were unable to attend because they did not fit the bill. According to someone. Who I would hazard a guess, is not God.

Drama best presented as, well, genuine drama requires rehearsal after rehearsal in front of a human audience. Absorbing the production in actual theatre seats who could together literally drink in the atmosphere of the talent of the designers, architects, stage crew, actors, ticket takers. An experience shared willingly by those who chose to attend.

Life stories that inform in our modern times are viewed as we sit in our isolated chairs, camera and projector in hand sometimes recording and periodically watching in real time as dramatic events unfold in milliseconds, seconds, minutes. Are we capable to pay attention for thirty minutes anymore? We replay the gory, the comical, the serious because we can hit the button as many times as we please. Possibly bearing witness to the undoing of a person in the process. That is o.k. because it is free. At our fingertips. We are in control baby. Who cares whose undoing I am watching? I AM in the production. Hurray..!!?? I am not responsible. Someone else must be. Who is responsible?

No one knows I am watching anyway. So we are all good. It’s someone else’s drama. Not mine. Phew. Dodged that bullet. For now.

A challenging part of pre-modern Journalism is that negativity sells. But unlike modern times, thorough attribution, was a prerequisite. Before the story went out. Thus the birth of gossip and “rag” periodicals. Mags and rags. They sought to and succeeded in drawing readers in. The more colorful and least clothed the picture the better to close the deal. And maintain a following. Not too unlike modern times. The takeaway is the damage. Damage created. Damage fed. Damage done.

Well, that was dramatic.