Battling November Gloom

As I’ve gotten older, my perception of time has changed. Everything passes in a flash, blinding light followed by shadowy smoke. There is an exception, though: the month of November, which seems to drag like a funeral dirge.

It’s only thirty days on the calendar, but this dreary month — with all due apologies to U.S. Thanksgiving — seems interminable. Why can’t June or July feel this way? Those gratifying months come and go before I have an opportunity to luxuriate in them. Just as I begin to look forward to those days, I’m suddenly looking back at them, wishing I had a dime-store time machine.

Do others feel this way about November? Does it feel as though Halloween was ages ago? The colder temperatures, shorter days, and longer evenings leave a gloomy impression, one that’s hard to shake. In the southern hemisphere, I suppose the month of May is the psychological tormentor, their downbeat precursor to winter. Down under, November probably has an entirely different vibe.

Every November, I think more about oblivion, and about a rather conclusive word that begins with a “d.” Such unbidden thoughts make me restless. Fair warning: this is a post in which I try to find an outlet for my aggressive restlessness.

And Now for Something of a Transition

We need a pause here, to set the stage for a narrative transition.

Okay, I’ve thought about doing a podcast. Yes, I know, I’m at least five years too late. There’s a psychedelic song from the 1960s — before my time, by the way — called Five Years Ahead of My Time. I should probably do an inverse cover of that song and call it Five Years Behind My Time. That said, in the last few days — I have a different post percolating on the topic — I’ve learned that I shouldn’t feel so bad about constantly trailing behind the temporal drumbeat. Apparently, it’s not my fault, at least not all my fault. Science can account for my slow uptake. This is why I embrace science.

Anyway, I say that I’ve thought about doing a podcast, but how serious am I about actually going there? I have no problem envisioning the podcast. Conceptualization is relatively easy. This podcast, which exists only as a wispy potentiality in the canyons of my mind, would actually be a series of podcasts offering relatively heretical perspectives and authentic — as opposed to contrived and calculated — viewpoints on major issues that cut across the techno-socio spheres.

Subjects might include the AI bubble’s threat to macro markets well beyond the narrow confines of technology; the real prospect or threat of AI to jobs and careers across various industries; and whether the rising wealth of techno billionaires is causing (or contributing to) fascism and authoritarianism. That’s just a start. When you give it some thought, there are all sorts of open questions that could be turned over and explored.

I would have guests on these podcasts, taking divergent if not opposing sides; they would avidly participate in the discussion, and I’d treat them fairly. Still, if I found they were dissembling or being self-serving, they would be subject to reproach. I would keep things candid. It’s the only way to go. This would not a pay-to-play shtick. You folks get enough of that already. I strive for the occasionally golden nugget of insight here, but I’ll settle for granite-like candor.

Therein lies the problem. I wouldn’t want sponsors. If you accept money from a corporate sponsor, they expect a return on what they view as an investment. It’s an inherently quid-pro-quo arrangement that can, and often does, result in self-censorship. You can understand how the mechanics of the transaction work. Nobody wants to sponsor a program or event that results in their skewering. Okay, maybe a masochist would pay for punishment, but masochism is an avocation rather than a vocation. (I think.) At any rate, I’ve never seen anybody with “masochist” on their business cards.

So, how would such a podcast pay for itself? It probably wouldn’t. I have the same issue with this thing you’re reading here, but I never expected to make money writing this newsletter. Further, writing is a relatively low-stress and low-budget undertaking. It has minimal overhead. It involves me, my thoughts, a keyboard, a computer, and a screen. That’s all, that’s it.

What’s more, I enjoy articulating and expressing my thoughts in words, sentences, paragraphs, and posts. Writing even has the benefit of keeping me mentally sharp and engaged in a life beyond my own brooding introspection. It can get dark in there, as anybody who lives too much in their heads will attest.

Death Valley — from Concept to Realization

Producing a podcast, especially one as ambitious as I envision, would involve significant effort and cost. I would have to do considerably more preparation, coordination, collaboration, and orchestration. Others would be involved, to keep things engaging and interesting, and to avoid the anodyne swamp of monotony. It would be a heavier lift, involving higher costs. Without a prospect of recouping what I’d spend, never mind making money, I’d probably throw in the towel shortly after I got started, presuming I got that far.

There’s another impediment. I’m a disaster at self-promotion. I just can’t do it. I was raised to never toot my own horn or sing my own praises. Proper humility requires that others, if they feel so inclined, offer words of praise, though they’re under no obligation to do so. In fact, I’d prefer no promotion, from others or from myself. I have no craving for applause. It’s mortifying. I cringe thinking about it, though I have no reservations about offering praise to others, who probably have more tolerance for it than I do. (I hope that’s true, or I’ve made a lot of people uncomfortable.)

Even now, I write as a form of cognitive and emotional therapy, to express and rid myself of thoughts and sentiments that would otherwise weight me down and get me down. There are things that need to be said, if only for the person who says them.

This is not mainstream stuff I’m doing here, far from it. There’s no way a vendor could spin this stuff as promotional bumf to sell a product or service. This is not a pay-to-play destination, and it never will be. I don’t have a sponsor. Everything you see here comes from me, and only from me. Nobody pays me to write it, nobody (or nothing, to be clear) writes it for me, and nobody sponsors it. In that small way — and I claim nothing greater than that — this space is hallowed ground.

Knowing One's Limitations

Now that I’m no longer beholden to an employer, I feel liberated to speak openly and without inhibition. If you think about it, our economic system enforces its own subtle form of censorship, which manifests in the form of self-censorship. We refrain from making certain statements, especially true ones because there’s personal and professional risk in saying what you really think. There is always, however, a congenial market for the sponsored message.

But, as I’ve said, I can’t do self-promotion. I just can’t do it.

I’d want the same integrity to apply to a podcast, but I can’t figure out how to do it in a way that doesn’t eat into my life savings. I can’t imagine courting advertisers, and I struggle to see how sponsors would give me the latitude to operate without constraint. They’d want to get something in return for sponsorship, and I can’t guarantee that result. I also don’t think there’s a subscription model for something as esoteric and niche as what I have in mind. It’s like having a cult following, which, as Kevin Ayers once said, means you don’t make any money.

The tragedy of it all, if I can be so grandiose as to use that turn of phrase, is that I feel there’s a hunger out there for the straight goods, unaffected and untainted by third-party sponsorship. Somebody else will get there, and I will support them in the cause.

As for me, maybe it's the pall of November talking, but I recognize my limitations.