Work-in-Progress

on depression, Linkedin, and art/official intelligence

Linkedin is making me depressed.

Disclaimer: I can get curious about this feeling because I know that this too shall pass. I am quite smitten with Life and feel bathed in blessings: a loving relationship, a vibrant community, robust brain chemistry, a sense of basic safety and security, and an endless banquet of Art to absorb. However, I’ll admit that I don’t care to linger in this depressive experience (if DJ Existence is taking song requests).

I much prefer sadness to depression, as I prize my immediacy with the world. Poet Victoria Chang writes: “Depression is a glove over the heart. Depression is an image of a glove over the image of a heart.” This is precisely how I feel at the moment: removed, by degrees, from the plump pinwheel of existence. I feel estranged from the sensations in my body: all their little rustlings and murmurings and peanut gallery wisecracks. Typically, my feelings and instincts are like a cluster of convivial neighbors; leaning over their balconies to call out to one another and the world. When I’m feeling depressed, that merry bonhomie becomes a rare aberration, not the joyful norm. Some high-octane feelings burst through the veil or film, but that barrier is tough to penetrate.

Christopher Johnson Photography

My current sad-girl-state stems from an inciting incident: my job and artistic community of over thirteen years ended abruptly last month with no warning and no explanation. In a breathless flurry of mass emails, we learned that our production was closed, that we should file for unemployment, and that we no longer had access to our company emails and files. The business of live theater is a perilous tightrope walk, and I admire anyone ambitious enough to attempt it. At the same time, my heart aches for all of us creatives, performers, artisans, stage managers, front of house workers, food and beverage workers, cleaners, and lighting and audio engineers who have not received clarity, closure, or direct communication about this ending. While we love the thrill of suspense in immersive theater, I think in this case spoilers would be welcome…!

Work ends. Art ends. Life ends. As I’ve written before here and here and here and here and here, I believe that endings are the makings of fertile soil. I feel eager to meet this ending (this coyote teacher, to use my friend Sara’s magnificent phrase) with courage and curiosity.

So like any good prospector, I slung my pickaxe over my shoulder and ventured onto Linkedin in search of gold. Within two weeks, I forced myself to cap my time spent on Linkedin— because that’s when Señorita Depression sauntered in with some choice words for me.

Surgeon’s General Warning: I acknowledge that the following sentiments may be inflected by the lens of my depressive state. I simultaneously acknowledge that these sentiments may be the cause of my current depressive state. (It’s a real chicken-or-the-egg situation over here!)

Essentially: I feel exhausted by talk of money and robots.

THE ROBOTS

On Linkedin, I read many feverish job descriptions seeking writers to train AI algorithms— quick quick quick!

At the same time, a savvy friend suggested that I let ChatGPT write my cover letters to maximize my chances of professional success. She explained that ChatGPT incorporates key buzzwords, and then the employer’s AI will in turn scan cover letters for those buzzwords.

That conversation is… just a computer talking to itself? Which is surely not the desired outcome when hiring real human people for a real human community of co-workers. Or perhaps it is? Perhaps I’m just an out-of-touch old curmudgeon, muttering over my spell books and railing against civilization?

I am not an opponent of AI; in fact, I find ChatGPT incredibly helpful. I also believe it is futile to fight progress and technological innovation. But are we clear on why we’re doing this? Are our philosophies keeping pace with our hungry, greed-flecked dreams?

Which brings me to the Big Mama…

THE MONEY

On Linkedin, I saw a slew of companies writing the same thing over and over again: help us make more money. The euphemistic translations varied— help us accelerate growth, help us acquire new users, help us expand our client base, help us tackle new markets— but the message was the same. I sensed that these companies did not have missions that required larger audiences; instead, they were just following mandates to hurry up and grow for growth’s sake. Big companies can grow so impersonal and obfuscate individual responsibility. Big companies— and their bottom-line economic imperatives— might prevent employees from doing a healthy gut check on whether anyone actually wants these outcomes. While scrolling Linkedin, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness as I realized that most of the systems we’ve built incentivize us to value value, not values.

My main question is this: under capitalism, does “enough” exist? Are we ever satisfied with enough land, enough power, enough money, enough stuff? Is there a cap or ceiling on how much muchness we desire? I had a big ol’ cry in the arms of my fiancé this weekend, saying: “There are massive rainforests… that we are destroying… for money. Help me wrap my head around that.” I’m paralyzed by the idea that humanity is essentially involved in a suicide pact as we destroy ourselves and the earth.

Of course I say all of this as a fellow guilty consumer:

• I travel and eat chicken and drink to-go chai lattés out of disposable cups and engage in many other practices that aren’t eco-friendly.

• I like having money to spend, and have never once regretted spending money at a play or museum or trip or national park or concert.

• I like a lot of companies: including Patagonia, Oatly, sweetgreen (read my love letter to sweetgreen here) and Disney (read my pieces on Disney here, here, here, here, and here).

• I like working creatively with for-profit companies. I am a creative director and copywriter, which means I like solving puzzles and I like writing anthems. I like making sure a message can find the people in need of it.

But I’m sad. I’m sad that we didn’t learn our lesson after hypnotizing ourselves with social media. I’m sad that we’ve started sprinting without discussing what a finish line looks like. I’m sad that my future children and their future children may never know what they’ve lost: the chance to stumble, to search, to crawl in the dirt, and to partake in the glorious, slow-simmered tango of a question and its answer finding their way to one another. I’m sad that trees keep calling to us with their ballads of deep time… and we respond with TikTok.

If you feel scared and overwhelmed by the breakneck pace of humanity: I see you. I see you, I’m sorry, and I believe this way is not the only way.

In Life and on this Substack, I try to orient myself around what I am for, and this piece is teetering dangerously close to an against piece. So… what am I for?

THE HOPE

I know what I want to do with my time, energy, and attention— that is the beauty of claiming an identity as an artist. To be an artist is to take an oath of fealty to Life itself; to learn through an intimate, devotional relationship with existence, and then alchemize Life through my prism of perception. I have promised to press myself up against the skin of Life for as long as she will have me, and when I live like this, I trust that inspiration will come. Even now, expression is the most refreshing medium I have to engage with the Playdoh of Life: I feel depressed, so I Art about it. This is how the world makes sense to me— as in, literally Art is my sense-making tool of choice.

I know I will continue to create for zero money and sheer love of the game… for the rest of my life. Hard work is a foundational Gilovich family value, and I find the hustle itself to be an intoxicating high. I love learning, even in challenges: anyone who has completed their MA thesis or PhD dissertation will tell you that returning to something— over and over again, with begrudging yet unswerving devotion— is a truly spiritual experience.

I cannot help working furiously on the elements of Life that make me feel fulfilled. These elements include: people (interviewing them, designing extraordinary experiences for them, discovering what makes them tick, editing and amplifying their writing), and making astonishing connections (synthesizing as a moderator / facilitator or a literary critic, brainstorming creative strategy around an urgent or cheeky message, shepherding an event from shimmering idea to lived reality). I love the giddy rush of tying it all together. I love things that are practical and beautiful. I love defying what’s possible with audacious, imaginative projects. When I get in touch with my grandest ambitions, I want to help people think and feel and be reminded of how brief and precious and miraculous Life is. I want to help people remember that we are our own way back to one another. I want to leave the world better than I found it.

I want to explore whether capitalism could ever register the concept of “enough” and what integrating that concept would mean creatively. Can companies grow not merely for growth’s sake, but instead pivot into new offerings for mission-driven reasons? Can a capitalist system accommodate this kind of strategy, and if not, do we need a new system that better exemplifies our values? Economy and ecology both stem from the Greek word oikos, meaning “house, dwelling, or habitation”. In other words: Home. I want economy and ecology to harmonize with a shared sense of Home.

I want to marinate in Life’s biggest questions with my fellow beings (I will be hosting a monthly talkback series— debuting 6/25 & 7/30 in Brooklyn— that explores these questions). I want to be guided by the questions that coax us back to the heart of the matter; which is to say, into matters of the heart.

I am for humanity’s deep wanting when it stems from the true and grounded place.

I am for humanity’s brightest and bravest inclinations.

I am for humanity’s capacity to learn and to love.

We are made of stardust, of water, of earth.

We are bare-toothed kindling.

We are creatures who sing of our lust for oxygen every single second of our lives.

Let us rush headlong into the hurly-burly with a thorny, spackled ferocity that swells with its own undeniable proof of Life.

Let us Love.

Let us Art.

Let’s make a living, and let’s also make a Life.

Christopher Johnson Photography

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