The Unreality of Memory: And Other Essays

have noticed that people who take and post selfies on the internet tend to choose photos from the same angle and showing the same expression. I think we must choose the photos that look most like our self-image; that self-image is then reinforced by the photos.

I’m not just nostalgic for my past; I’m nostalgic for my pain. My own past suffering can be a great source of comfort. Why is that? Because it’s over? Or because it’s a badge of honor?

The NIH also notes that Tourette’s syndrome is more common in men, which makes me wonder if it’s a form of conversion disorder we’ve simply decided to take more seriously.

There’s no compassion fatigue without compassion: The caretakers at risk see somebody suffering, and they want to reduce the suffering. But they can’t always succeed. Compassion fatigue, then, is stymied compassion.

Social media, with its reach and immediacy, even intimacy, threatens the “us versus them” classifications we make so naturally. It exposes us to people who are suffering thousands of miles away.

Not until we experience new forms of disaster can we understand what it is we need to prevent.

Whether or not I personally keep up with everything happening everywhere all the time, I know it exists; that awareness alone is fatiguing. It’s very easy to succumb to fatalism, perhaps the logical extension of compassion fatigue—believing we’re “fucked” no matter what we do is mysteriously tempting.

For the past several months, I’ve experienced a creeping psychic exhaustion. “I’m in a numb period,” I tell my friends when they send me frantic texts about the day’s news. My emotions seem blocked.

Trying to scale up technologies that work on the local level leads to depletion of resources and other unforeseen consequences that can ultimately collapse the system.