Am I really going to use artificial intelligence to generate this blog post? Where did I go wrong? I’m a journalist with extensive education and writing is in my blood. What would my first-grade teacher think about this blatant deceit? I’m a cheater, but I’ve got to do something to break me out of this year-long creative drought that I’ve found myself in. Here goes nothing. I was typing the words “write a blog post that relates pop culture to parenting” into ChatGPT long after everyone in my house had already fallen asleep and no one was around to see me commit this revolting sin. The light from my laptop shone on my face illuminating my newfound shame. Quickly, the words started to flow on the page. My skin was hot from the sheer thrill of so many sentences being formed right in front of my eyes. My breathing was long and labored as I realized that this must be what it feels like to have ideas pulled from midair and assembled so seamlessly, a feeling I had never had when writing before. Writing is dirty work. It takes all my effort not to crumble into a ball and cry on my worst days. On good days I come to the table with an idea and at least a few interesting threads, yet no clue how to tie them together. This is one of the reasons I haven’t written about my parenting experience in over a year. Well, that, and who has the time to be a writer and a parent, while also making money to pay the bills? Inevitably, I just couldn’t convince myself to write anymore. I guess the passion started to burn out around the time I finished my graduate degree last summer. We had just adopted our first child, work was endless, and the little time I had to myself I spent regretting all the things that I wasn’t accomplishing. Writing was a lover that I had grown too close to and now we had no time for each other. ChatGPT was the adulterous, forbidden love affair that I had been needing to light that spark. Almost instantaneously the bot replied with a lengthy title, something I always aspire to, which read, “Parenting Lessons from Pop Culture: What Movies, TV, and Music Teach Us About Raising Kids.” Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff. What followed was an average, not so topical, floundering essay about parenting with an introduction, somewhat of a middle and a conclusion. Reading through the text, reality started to set in. There’s no voice and no substance. This lifeless, Frankenstein essay, hobbled together with a few headings and barely a semblance of a thought could probably fool a high school English teacher, but it wasn’t going to replace my patented ramblings and musings. There was a severe absence of prose in the document that I pride myself in being quite adept at. Honestly, why was I even writing? Why today? Is it because we’re eagerly awaiting the arrival of our second foster child? Maybe work has been going just a bit better? It could have something to do with the feelings I got listening to Spanish music in the car with my son after he had a back-to-back dentist and pediatrician visit. Today the world just seemed like something was missing. While in the car my thoughts ran wild with various allusions and metaphors. My head felt clearer than it has in a while. Security was the word that came to mind, or the lack thereof. Am I secure in who I am? Secure in my ability to parent? Financially secure? What am I doing today that is going to get me to where I want to be tomorrow? Hell, with advancements in A.I. on the regular, I’m not even sure I know what tomorrow will look like. This last year has changed so much. I’ve lost people I love, while others have become distant memories. The person I see in the mirror seems to be morphing in real time. So much of who I am is being redefined and I worry about losing touch with the person I used to be or the goals I used to have. I visit small towns and the serenity of sunsets and mountains attracts me. I visit large tourist traps and the elusiveness is palpable. Yet, when I’m home there’s an overwhelming pressure weighing me down, reminding me of what I have yet to do. Every day, the to-do list grows. Maybe everybody has a running list of goals and tasks in their head? Each of us just going about our business yet never reaching a rest stop. My brain is an open web browser with too many tabs. Yet, that’s what makes us human. The unconnected dots that dangle in midair or forgotten memories that only reappear when one least expects it, those are what truly makes us different. We find meaning in the meaningless, hope in the middle of a disaster, connective tissue where there really should be none, and we write blog posts for no one else to read. Life is a fruitless labor at times, and parenting is the same. The plant grows, strong roots may form, you might even see a flower or two. Yet, unless you can present a harvest when all is said and done, the world laughs at you and says you accomplished nothing. I’m keeping a child alive, showing him love, ready to take on a second one, going to work every day, laughing when I watch my favorite TV shows, and I’m trying to create something out of nothing. Life isn’t as easy as providing a prompt to a computer and generating a written response. The work is behind the scenes and this time in my life has been spent building that foundation. I sure hope someday I look back and see the benefits, but for now, I’m happy to just see green leaves and flowers here and there. [email protected]
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June 2023
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