Lauds

A very short essay, after a poem by G.M. Hopkins

Myself unhappy, from myself unhappy to the sweet living of my friends I look. They are online, on demand, on diets; I am downcast and downtrodden. Nothing I do and no track of my thoughts frees me from the sultry siege of melancholy, this endless and friendless flight through a trackless wood.

So I download an app. I take a personality test, or three. I polish my personal brand. My metrics improve. My life begins to lighten. I am important, organized, optimized, informed. I am affirmed, accomplished, aspirational, inspirational. I tell my story, share your story, participate in the Discourse. I reskill myself as a dynamic content creator and a social influencer.

I am getting stuff done and I am saving money and I am reaching out to people and I am managing my calendar and I am expressing my views and I am growing my network and I am connecting with my loved ones and I am pursuing self-actualization and I am parenting with intentionality and I am tracking my activity and I am updating my professional profile and I am meeting key performance indicators and I am automating, I am exercising, I am checking in and checking out. I am documenting my personal development in my authentic voice. I am a biohacker and a content creator; I have a long tail.

My life is full, my time is spoken for, and my success is assured.

The clock ticks off the hours: 5 a.m., 6 a.m. I hunch over my little glowing breviary. Outside, the nuthatches stir in the first light, and a trace of cloud flits across the moon.