Navigating the Sea of Noise

I have a startling 58 tabs open, on my computer alone; many of which are events or the like I wish to investigate, articles I wish to read, or threads of ideas I wish to act on. Somehow I convince myself I have time and will to circle back to all of them.

In the last week I’ve seen, and either bookmarked or screen-shotted, at least one course/workshop/masterclass/conference/ festival or event. My first impulse after stumbling upon each is that I’d love to attend, perhaps before even having read any of the details. But by as little as two minutes later, whether due to continued scrolling, information overload, decision fatigue, or convincing myself I will do something about it later, the event that seemed so important and necessary to attend in the moment vanishes from my radar, replaced by the next shiny object or offering, email or ping, or that it’s time for dinner and I better think of something to make.

Here’s the thing, even if the thing on offer is valuable, because I do believe a lot of what I stumble upon is, am I able to take it in? Can I spot a diamond in the very densely populated rough?

We’re bombarded with noise. Everywhere and all the time. We’re utterly addicted to stimulus, willingly inviting it in to any and every empty space in our day. Nearly every other post in my instagram feed is trying to sell me something, whether directly or indirectly; something I didn’t have any thought as to needing until the moment it’s presented to me. Nearly every post in my Linkedin is trying to offer me something of value — information, analysis, insights, best practices and so on. The result of all this noise is that I, in reality, take in next to none of it in.

What I do take in is fleeting, because before there’s time to digest the input, offer or inspiration, I’ve found five more. And suddenly the thing that seemed valuable has fallen through the cracks, leaving me feeling that I’ve taken in everything and nothing.

I find myself conflicted. Wanting not to participate in or contribute to the noise, and yet, feeling a fear of becoming an anomaly otherwise. Admittedly, I too have been trying to sell something. Something which at its core promotes real food, meaningful connections and reconnection to nature. All things I care deeply about and believe contribute to a healthier world and way of being in it. And yet, as I try to sell it, via use of newsletter marketing, discount offers, aesthetically pleasing social media posts, adding to my already over trafficked Linkedin feed and putting up posters around town; it becomes clear to me that I’m part of the problem. I’m adding yet another product/ service offering to the mix of a whirlwind of other product/service offerings, when actually what I want to promote is that we live slower, more unplugged, more intentional, more spacious and less consumerist lives.

The irony is this — I want people to get more well while at the same time feel that in order to achieve that aim, I must participate in mediums that are actively contributing to us (& myself) feeling unwell. In a world that is so full of noise, where next to nothing sticks; what is work worth doing? What is noise worth adding? And do we have a choice when it comes to participating or not, really?

We’re all in a crowded room where people try to shout louder and louder. Instead of questioning the next attention grabbing gimmick, should we not be questioning if we’re in the wrong room, and what it could look like to walk into a different one?