Autopilot
On hidden habits and gossip obsession
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Dear Bolu,
I think we do certain things without our full awareness. We might be conscious of the activity in progress, but we are not entirely in charge of it or ourselves. It’s like we’ve conveniently delegated control to some other part of us running on autopilot, and we (our awareness) are somewhere in the background sipping mai tai at the beach. We probably don’t even know where our awareness is in such situations because if we did, we’d be aware. These autopilot activities tend to be habits that have developed over time, and their existence may be unknown to us. Also, they could be anything; how we navigate channels when we turn on a TV; how we navigate our phone applications when we wake up; what side of the mouth our toothbrushes first land on, and so forth.
Autopilot.
Fairly recently, I was caught in the middle of an autopilot activity I wasn’t proud of. It made me ask myself some serious questions about life and people. It was not an evil act in any fundamental sense of the word, but I didn’t feel good about it. Thankfully, there was no cause for embarrassment, and that’s because I caught myself. So, I meted out whatever reproach I felt and gave every ounce of chastisement I received. What was the act? Well–
Someone (let’s call them V.) tweeted specific allegations against someone else (let’s call them X.). X’s name wasn’t mentioned in the tweet, so we were left to figure out X’s identity as if we’ve not had enough of high-school algebra. The reactions in the replies to the tweets suggested most people had figured out who X was, and I was desperate to attain the enlightenment they already possessed. “Oh, is it that guy that posts pictures with his babe every Sunday?<insert :joy: emoji x3>”. “Ah, is it not that same brother that preaches fidelity? Wonders <insert :face_palm: emoji>”. On and on, the replies streamed forth. Also, there were folks like me whose eyes were veiled and kept in the dark about X’s true identity. “Omo, make una use your @ now”. “Who is this tweet about?”. And so I pored over the replies and rummaged through the quoted tweets in search of any mention of X’s name and clues that might culminate in an aha moment, thereby ending my hardly algebraic quest for X.
I must admit that in my finest moments as a man—I’ve only actually had one or two of them—I’m tempted to consider myself equal in wits and wisdom to the likes of Sherlock Holmes and Nara Shikamaru. This was, however, not one of those moments. My wisdom failed me, and my investigative prowess was insufficient to determine the identity of X. I felt frustrated that I could not achieve my goal, and this was when I caught myself. I had been on autopilot—reading tweets, diving into replies, sniffing for hints, sourcing references, guessing, poking, and making the most of my imagination, which amounted to nothing. I caught myself by asking the question; why am I frustrated? Why am I vexed? And the answers weren’t encouraging one bit. In fact, this is something I suggest we all do; ask yourself “why” when you feel certain emotions. Why am I pissed when a stranger disagrees with me on the internet? Why do I frown when Sharday posts a hot picture on IG? It’s not enough to know we feel these emotions, no. We should know why and the reason is not always as apparent as we think. In answering these questions, we may encounter valuable knowledge about ourselves that we didn’t know.
We react to things only because they trigger something in us; we get angry, mad and sad for reasons we may not exactly know. Asking “why” forces us to consciously reflect on ourselves and shines a light in that corner of our minds that often escapes introspection. And when we get to the root of it, we’d be surprised at how trivial and silly some of these triggers are. Is this really what I’m getting all worked up for? This was precisely how I felt when I caught myself. I realised I was frustrated because I wasn’t in on a gossip I had no business with. So what if I didn’t know who X was? What is it to me? Does it stop me from working or learning French? Do I need this information to choose the politician to vote for? What exactly does X’s identity do for me? Why am I frantically digging for this knowledge? Does it really make me one of the enlightened ones? In the end, I was rightly disappointed in myself for getting frustrated because of the whole thing. “This is not a good place to be”, I said to my defeated self. But I was also a little glad that I became aware of an erstwhile unknown lousy habit.
Oh well.
Why do we like gossip? Why do we crave “scoops”? It’s obvious we do because there is a market for it. Blogs provide us with the latest news on Mr and Mrs Smith’s marriage. Tabloids tell us ten things we didn’t know about Michelle Pfeiffer’s intimate relationships. Twitter threads elegantly reveal the adulterous yet glorious escapades of our regional pastor. And we soak it all up. We click on these links and brave through countless ad popups to gain this insight. We gather in comment sections and express our express interest in the drama that we hope will ensue. “Just here for the violence<insert :Pepe-the-frog-eating-popcorn: meme>”. We tag our friends and lovers to the gist. “Hey, @P, see something”. And when we sense that there’s some drama on the timeline we’ve missed, we shout a cry for help. “Abeg, make person tag me to this gist now <insert :sleepy: emoji>”.
Why do we behave this way? One could give a blanket answer and say we do so because we like distractions. While that may be true, I think it’s inadequate and not so helpful because it doesn’t explain why gossip seeking is a compulsive obsession. I mean—scrolling through your Twitter feed is a distraction but hounding for the identity of X is more than a distraction. I think that we should answer this question individually because the motivations for our behaviours are specific to us. But is it all bad, though? Is it bad to be curious and highly motivated to pursue that curiosity? Isn’t being an aquifer of knowledge a good thing? Doesn’t it give us a better chance of winning the grand prize at Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Doesn’t it give us more data to inform our opinions and correct/confirm our biases? Doesn’t it make us more capable of having good conversations with new people? Doesn’t it make us more aware of the little details that remind us that life is sometimes as beautiful as it is ugly?
It may not be entirely bad, but it still possesses some dangers. And I think we ought to combat these dangers ourselves. Put some measures in place to guard against obsessing over certain news. We could make use of some heuristics to know what not to pursue. If it’s not immediately obvious, I’d just scroll past. If it’s not related to Hip-hop, I’ll swipe on. If it’s an unconfirmed rumour, I’ll leave it behind. We should also ask and answer as honestly as possible—why am I so interested in this? Why do I feel like I really need this information? Why am I eager to behold a man’s ruin or a woman’s downfall? Why do I desperately want the identity reveal of X? Why? And your answers will guide and guard you, dear friend.
Fin.
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- Wolemercy