Popularity

Remember when you were a teen and envied the popular kids? What made them popular? Maybe they were better looking than most or more physically mature. Maybe they were more self confident and socially at ease, more “cool,” better dressed, carried themselves a certain way or were more comfortable with their sexuality. Maybe they simply had that mysterious quality called charisma. (“Rizz!” the word of the year.) Frankly, I don’t know why they were so blessed, but one thing I did know during those years was that I wasn’t one of them and my chances of becoming one were slim to none.

Thankfully, we grow out of that phase. Most of us, anyway. We find our niche in life. We find love, start families, make friends, do whatever we do to make a contribution to the world. We gain recognition and appreciation in those ways. Mostly that’s enough. But to be popular, to be a star, never really loses its appeal. I won’t make any bones about the fact that I have sometimes daydreamed about being a rock star, a movie star or a pro quarterback. I suspect, though, that many of those who achieve such acclaim don’t do it to be popular. They are popular because they do it. They do it because innate talent and their nature compel them to do it.

Still fame and recognition are nice. I acknowledge that writing these blogs, while I do it mostly for the satisfaction of honing a skill and focusing my thoughts, has an element of seeking recognition, of gaining a certain kind of popularity.

This is clear when I look at the feature that tracks the popularity of my blog. It lists the number of “views,” “opens” and “clicks.” Don’t ask me what those are. I’ve tried to understand them, but it’s still not entirely clear to me. Whatever they are, though, the more of them you get for a blog, the more people at least looked at it. Though my readership is modest, it has seen an increase year by year. This year is on track to be my most “popular” one so far. I don’t write on specific topics with the intent to draw readers, but I’ve noticed certain subjects or key words attract more views. This has been the case whenever the name Trump was in the title, or the words “freedom” and “democracy,” but recently another word definitely took first place.

Surprise! (not). It was the name “Taylor” in the title of a recent one. This blog received four to five times as much attention as any blog I’ve ever written, and within just a couple of weeks to boot. The mass appeal of Taylor Swift rocketed my blog up the ratings.

As readers know, I write about serious topics most of the time. Events and issues that strongly affect our lives. My blog about Taylor Swift was not at all like that. It was mostly about my taste in music, poking fun at myself as a dinosaur on the way to extinction. Taylor’s style of music doesn’t rock my world as it does for so many younger people. Not that it’s bad. I’m just an old codger who, like most old codgers, prefers music of “my day.” Like every member of the older generation from time immemorial, I view the behavior and priorities of young people these days as hopeless. In writing the blog, I was simply indulging myself in a nice cranky rant.

It’s not just an age thing, however. My lukewarm reception of pop culture is really nothing new. Even as a teen, I sought out more than the pap that my peers were obsessed with. That may be one reason I wasn’t a member of the in-crowd. When “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire” was popular, I often watched it at the gym to wile away the time on the treadmill. I am not exaggerating when I say, had I been a contestant and if there weren’t questions on popular culture, I would have been a millionaire several times over.

Still, I wasn’t entirely oblivious. We’re surrounded with pop after all. I simply didn’t find it worth immersing myself in or filling my memory banks with. All things pass. The more things change, the more they stay the same. One star rises, another falls. The longer we live, the more we see them come and go and realize just how fleeting fame, and life, is. Not long ago, a young person checked me into the Y. During a little pleasant banter I said, “You know what Groucho Marx said, don’t you?” With a blank face she asked, “Who’s Groucho Marx?”

When a star dies, the world boo-hoos–for a week or so– and then we move on. I always wanted to focus on things that were more enduring, more universal. Great literature, classical music, art. To learn more about science, religion, history, philosophy and to master my extremely complex profession. More important, I wanted to synthesize the facts I gathered into a gestalt, a personal world view, creative and unique, and share it with others. There’s a certain satisfaction in thinking that, even though I am as temporary as pop culture, I will at least go to the great beyond with a brain filled with things of substance.

Perhaps this is just sour grapes. Whenever I pick up my guitar, I know Clapton never had anything to fear from me. When I sing, the legacy of Sinatra is not threatened. No matter how hard I trained, and I trained hard, I knew I’d never get close to being an Olympian. Though I’ve written three novels, the ghost of Hemingway is not disturbed. Some of us are simply born with great talent or a je ne sais quoi that attracts attention and makes us popular. Most of us are not.

That’s kind of sad, but if we approach it properly, keep our perspective, it does have a plus side. Even those of us not so blessed can choose to strive to achieve our own best, to get satisfaction from trying our darnedest in whatever we do. Sometimes we surprise ourselves with how much we do achieve.

It can remind us to appreciate that there are people who love us even though we are not super talented or famous. It can make us thankful that, though we never won the gold, in this strange race called “life” we were blessed simply by having had the opportunity to gain a participant’s medal.