waste land

T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” is often referred to as his seminal work, a poem depicting the spiritual, cultural and emotional sterility of post WWI-Europe.  The poem was written in 1922, at the crux of what would become “The Roaring ‘20’s” when traditional beliefs – religion, morality, social order—had collapsed and the inner life of humanity dried up. 

 Sound familiar?

 I think so and there’s plenty of evidence to support it.  People are getting dumber and dumber, we have all this amazing technology, but computers have turned us into basically four finger wank machines.  The internet was supposed to set us free, you know — democratize us — but all it’s given us is Donald Trump’s felony conviction and 24-hour access to kiddie porn.

People feel isolated, numb or unable to truly connect.  Instagram Reels and YouTube Shorts are full of women looking for “real” men while they mask their own “real” identities with four pounds of make-up, false eyelashes and fingernails.  Men have become indifferent about relationships.  If the first date doesn’t work out, swipe right for the next or go home and enjoy a little one-handed typing. The excitement of solving the mystery of what the first date will reveal is gone because relationships have become as disposable as the “Go Away” doormat you bought on a whim at Ikea.

We’ve created a wasteland that’s a metaphor for modern consciousness – fragmented and anxious.  Consider our rich cultural past with a present day that feels hollow.  We don’t take the time to read books, but we will multi-task our way to enrichment with a downloaded digital file we listen to in a frantic morning commute.  Very few of us gather en masse as a whole aligned on shared values.  We’re too geographically dispersed, tangled by too much time spent chasing the unobtainable Kult of the Kardashians on Hulu that’s now part of your Disney+ subscription.

Wait a minute.  Disney?  Wasn’t Disney supposed to be a bastion of wholesome family entertainment?

There’s a reoccurring theme of barrenness – dry land, lack of water, infertility.  We’ve manufactured a version of The American Dream that’s unobtainable.  Unobtainable because there’s a lack of willingness to do the work, make the sacrifices and think of long term and that’s because the guy that used to sit next to you on the bus just sold his app for more “fuck you money” than you can imagine.

And buried deep underneath that is a quiet question: Can renewal happen?

There’s a glimmer of hope.  There’s a park across the street from my house where you can find people gathering for Adult Kickball Leagues.  The much-beleaguered restaurant industry whose catch phrase in the 60’s was “Eating out is fun” has now become “eatertainment” where Backgammon and Mahjong clubs and other gamification create a sense of community.  We’re looking for a way to reconnect with other like minds under a roof of shared values instead of shared wireless connections.

We’re also experiencing a robust return to what’s called “Trad Wives.”  Stay-at-home moms who manage the household so their husbands can bring home the bacon.  Husbands make all the important decisions…and their wives tell them what’s important.  Balance.

There’s a burning desire, albeit dimly lit, to return to balance.  We’re longing for that time when a lady left the table to powder her nose the men would stand when she left and again when she returned. It’s a gesture of respect for all the hard work women contributed managing the house, the perils of pregnancy and…putting up with men.

The road there is long and full of potholes, pits and meaningless pontifications by politicians who gerrymandered their way into office with a Go Fund Me page they built on Squarespace.  We’ll need to dump the DEI and its entitlements and shift our focus to improving everything about education.  I’ll raise the bar another notch and ask that we remember that the Unhoused are still home less.

We’ve reached that time when all the scared rats are jumping from the ship; it’s a time when real leaders step in, a time for true visionaries who can read well past the first line on the eye chart and give our hearts and minds some soul, a cause to fight for that doesn’t involve bombs, bullets or the Baywatch reruns that brought us here in the first place.

There’s work to be done so that our current Waste Land doesn’t become Wasted Land. I wonder if T.S. Eliot ever crossed path with George Santayana - although credit is often given to Winston Churchill, it was George who said: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” I’ll close with one final thought…

…dinosaurs.