When did insincere jerkiness become such a favorite pastime among educated middle to upper-middle class white people?

Their droll snarkicisms are like mice in my apartment: scratching all around me, not deadly but can cause stomachaches, and impossible to eliminate. They’re also easy to spot. Pick anything appreciated by a good chunk of society – Target, public libraries, The New York Times – and you’re bound to find someone willing to scathingly critique it in a brutally obvious attempt to pass as an independent thinker.

“God, the Times’ op-ed is so predictable, the entire thing is unreadable.”

“Target, Target, everyone likes Target. Whatever happened to the good old days of shopping at pricey boutiques subsidized and run by trust fund kids?”

“Public libraries? Hello!! The word ‘public’? Just not interested.”

Alright, I’ve had my moments. More than a few. If you’ve known me at any point within the last five or six years, you’ve heard me say, “Mass transportation? Bah! It’s for the masses,” while patting myself on the back at my wit and originality.

Puke. Maybe it’s my new status as a thirty-something, maybe Jedediah Purdy’s book just makes more sense to me the closer I get to putting these child-bearing hips to good use, but these days I’ll take sincere over clever any day of the week.

Which isn’t to say that I don’t want original thought in my life. Far from it. Rather, I’m simply fatigued by the watery facsimile of original thinking bandied about by these college-educated honkeys. It’s as if they’ve taken a page from Walter Lippman’s Drift & Mastery, played Dada-poetry-night with it, and assumed that by saying things at odds with the status quo, suddenly that makes ‘em a free thinker. Different. Unique.

Newsflash: Sincerity and originality are not diametrically opposed. Sure, sincerity usually gets bundled with wearers-of-popcorn-sweaters and bearers-of-casserole. But I’m hard-pressed to think of anything original coming from those obsessed with mockery. And how could there be? If you’re constantly tossing out statements about the benign institutions that exist outside of you, isn’t your self-definition simply a function of the Other?

In other words, if you’re so busy pointing out the failures of the world around you, doesn’t this other-centric worldview make it a little bit difficult to figure out what you believe in? What your passions are? How you sincerely feel?

You = Negation (outside world)

Not

You = You

It’s a lot easier to stand back from the fray and give the play-by-play of the world around you rather than actually engage and give a shit. Participating in life isn’t easy: you gotta show up, you gotta take off the mask, you gotta be willing to say what you really care about and risk getting laughed at (or, worse, realize that you’re mediocre). Mere existence demands little; authentic living requires a willingness to be vulnerable.

There are those who are content to stand on the sidelines of life, spectating with their arms crossed as snark drips from their mask-covered lips. And there are those who fling their arms and their hearts open, ready to embrace all of life’s messy joys, sorrows, and complications, with sincerity, vulnerability, and hope.

And what can I say. I never was much a fan of spectator sports.

***

Congratulations to the beautiful Dr. Love, who successfully defended her PhD this past Tuesday.

I’m reminded of an incident, Halloween, junior year. We were both in costume in the Jonathan Edwards common room: her hair dyed black as a vampiress; I was sporting fake fur as Pocahontas. (I wish I could find the picture.)

“God, look at all these happy freshman,” I snarled, adding freshman to my growing list of hates, which included curled hair, frat boys, sorority girls, Hollywood films, Vans, tight jeans, smiling people, the color blonde, classes before 1 p.m., pop music, laughing, etc.

“Oh, ANP, get over yourself.” It was the first time I ever heard her voice take a firm line with me, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard it since.

God, how I loved her in that moment, calling me out in my infinite darkness, a beacon of light in the 06520 when I was content to wallow in simply hating the outside world rather than busy myself with the challenge of honestly and sincerely confronting – and loving – the inner one.

***

Let’s go, people. Take off the armor. Stop being afraid to give a shit.

Show up. Live. Love.

Sincerely.

xoxoANP