Informative Transgressions
As one gets older, one has a larger historical frame, and thus can notice subtle changes. I have noticed a marked increase in what I call “Informative Transgressions”. In my casual conversations with people I don’t really know, but interact with often. The tone, and the content of stories, has remarkably changed.
The grocery clerk; who’s son recently died of a heroin overdose.
The barber; who lost all his money to a bad real estate scam.
The law enforcement officer; placed in an unsolvable moral dilemma, between loyalty to his fellow officers, and doing what is right.
On and on.
Social norms around casual speech have gotten much more transgressive,
less restrictive. What I hear today, in passing conversations would never have happened 20 years ago. It is not that people are more open, more trusting, far from it. People today are more afraid, more closed down, than ever. But the speech, the stories they feel compelled to tell in a moment of interaction, are filled with confessional tragedy, outright horror, or shock.
Is this the sign of a society collapsing, a shared reaction to a life increasingly untenable. Or is this just a learned pattern of speech stemming from modern media, and online sensationalism. I don’t know.
In the five minutes I stand in line, I hear stories told that used to be whispered in quiet rooms, among close family members. Now openly spoken to strangers.
I listen, and hear an urgency, almost a demand, that I understand and agree that their life has become “news worthy”, ordinary but extreme. The off-hand references to death, bankruptcy, poverty, rape, and despair. Seem shocking when told in isolation, but when it is an everyday occurrence, trivial.
Personal pain, and suffering, has always been with us. It is the mode of confessing such that has changed. I now live in a society hammered by life, inequality, and blame. We each have a need to say, “Me, look at me, this happened to me.” and I am compelled to talk about it.
What can I do, but listen, respond with compassion, and move on.
As one gets older, one has a larger historical frame, and thus can notice subtle changes. I have noticed a marked increase in what I call “Informative Transgressions”. In my casual conversations with people I don’t really know, but interact with often. The tone, and the content of stories, has remarkably changed.
The grocery clerk; who’s son recently died of a heroin overdose.
The barber; who lost all his money to a bad real estate scam.
The law enforcement officer; placed in an unsolvable moral dilemma, between loyalty to his fellow officers, and doing what is right.
On and on.
Social norms around casual speech have gotten much more transgressive,
less restrictive. What I hear today, in passing conversations would never have happened 20 years ago. It is not that people are more open, more trusting, far from it. People today are more afraid, more closed down, than ever. But the speech, the stories they feel compelled to tell in a moment of interaction, are filled with confessional tragedy, outright horror, or shock.
Is this the sign of a society collapsing, a shared reaction to a life increasingly untenable. Or is this just a learned pattern of speech stemming from modern media, and online sensationalism. I don’t know.
In the five minutes I stand in line, I hear stories told that used to be whispered in quiet rooms, among close family members. Now openly spoken to strangers.
I listen, and hear an urgency, almost a demand, that I understand and agree that their life has become “news worthy”, ordinary but extreme. The off-hand references to death, bankruptcy, poverty, rape, and despair. Seem shocking when told in isolation, but when it is an everyday occurrence, trivial.
Personal pain, and suffering, has always been with us. It is the mode of confessing such that has changed. I now live in a society hammered by life, inequality, and blame. We each have a need to say, “Me, look at me, this happened to me.” and I am compelled to talk about it.
What can I do, but listen, respond with compassion, and move on.