Negative Space in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

There’s a music blog I’ve been reading for a little over 2 years now. It’s written by a journalist with whom I often disagree, but I find a lot of his technical insights into the workings of pop music to be fascinating. It’s written chronologically so we’re now in a period where he’s discussing pop music in the year 2000 (ironically, this whole article has eased my mind about now listening to pop music in this present era because reading about the pop music of my youth made me realize that I didn’t even listen to pop music back then).

I almost always avoid looking at the comments section. Occasionally, I’ll stumble there accidentally and cringe at what has been written there. As I was reading, and evaluating my own vitriolic reaction, I started to wonder exactly where it came from. It finally came when I read some person’s comment about their own perceived importance as a frequent commenter, someone who comments every article and provides some shitty counterpoint that is then debated about in sub-comments.

I hate people who think they’re important.

That’s it. That’s my whole vitriol and the whole point of this entry.

I am not important. I’ve never been important to anyone and I probably won’t be important to anyone.

That’s a perspective I’ve accepted since I was in my early twenties. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t offer my opinion very freely and I why I don’t really consider the opinions of others. You’re not important. I’m not important. Why are we talking? There’s no point. Nothing you say is going to change anything. Nothing I say is going to change anything. We are wasting energy and time.

I can’t recall when I came to this conclusion, but it was this very thought that made me quit performing.

I was raised to take up as little space as possible. To never inconvenience anyone. In many ways, I’m still the demure child. It’s one of the reasons social anxiety hits me so hard. If I’m not important and you’re not important, why are we here? Why am I even trying to talk to you? Why am I hoping you’ll talk to me? Just being here means I’m taking up too much space.

That’s what my head is really like.