Who's Who
on resisting the siren call of search engines
A while ago, I was wedged between two men at a dinner party. As I sat down, I noticed one of my dinner partners on his phone. I couldn’t see the particulars but did see the telltale G and wondered what he was googling. Was it the people at the party? Throughout dinner, both men sat with their phones in their laps, ready to draw them like gunslingers at the slightest invitation. After we were all seated, we swiftly blew through “what do you do” and “where are you from” kind of inquiries. Then the men flanking me shifted into “transmit mode,” as one friend puts it.
As I listened to them expound on their successes, their connections, and their determination to slot their kids into lustrous, storied lives after the Ivies, I drifted into reflection. Normally these conversations leave me scheming for an early exit. But these days I am trying to be less judgmental when someone talks about themselves without drawing breath. After all, I know my own story, so why not listen more to others’? That takes some doing, and I often fail. But along the way I’ve noticed a shift from genuine conversation to swapping quick data points.
I don’t know what the gentleman next to me was Googling, but I do know we all have succumbed to this to some degree. The information highway, this ability to have the world at our fingertips, has of course been a marvel. But having answers in an instant often squelches curiosity when we assume that whatever surfaces is the relevant information, the only story. We rely on outside sources to evaluate people before we meet them. We make assumptions, we Google, we look at people’s social media, and we rely on hearsay like in a Jane Austen novel (Mr. Darcy is worth 10,000 pounds!) These information snapshots often guide us on when and how to engage with people. I certainly have been guilty of taking these shortcuts, of stepping into this singular type of laziness.
This rush to reduce people to Cliff Notes (betraying my age here) keeps getting worse. And the cancel culture that sweeps through both sides of the political divide has become judge, jury, and executioner. AI ensures our online profiles look like a result from that surrealist game The Exquisite Corpse, where a drawing is embellished and layered by each participant, resulting in a fanciful image.
A friend once quipped that I have a very slow rate of reveal. But I think that’s true for most of us. As individuals, all of us are tucked away from view in one way or another, and it takes perseverance to dig under the surface and learn about the divine and the mundane. Rebecca Solnit wrote, “what escapes categorization can escape detection altogether.” In a world that no longer seems to know what to do with process or blurred edges or uncertainty, it can be hard to keep looking, to sustain curiosity.
We all shapeshift according to circumstances and test our environment by presenting a variety of selves. For example, I am a classic introvert and don’t initially volunteer much in person, but am happy to do so when asked. But sometimes, when I’m feeling anxious in a situation, I withhold information and use curiosity about others as a way to tuck myself from view.
And yet a search can let someone’s humanity surface. My husband and I recently rented a house in California for next April. When the owner looked us up online to make sure we weren’t deranged, she read about the death of our daughter. She emailed us: “I never personally reach out to future renters, but I wanted to send my condolences and reassure you that I will make your month spectacular.” How lovely is that?
Back at that dinner party, I felt inspired. I withdrew to the bathroom to make a list in my palm-sized notebook of what will never turn up in my Google search. There is no way for a search result to reflect the vagaries and delights of human experience and connection. Here is my list of what will always bypass artificial intelligence:
That I chase light like I chase color.
That I change my mind.
That I adore my small, sweet family.
That I search for pattern and symbols.
That I work in my studio in the company of flatulent dogs.
That I love reading essays.
That I adore Steve Earle.
That being an artist, for me, is a deep-rooted gravitational pull.
That I will always walk with ghosts and a broken heart.
That despite this, I am determined to find the lightness of being and live in wonder.
That I always seek to live with grace but often miss the mark.
That I want to be an apple tree in my next iteration.
That I love to laugh.
That my garden sustains me.
That I don’t have to understand everything.
That I love talking to the youngest person in the room.
When I returned home from that dinner, I punched in “who is Isa Catto” into a search engine. There was no pat summary of me, no Wikipedia page, just a footprint. What a relief.
I loved reading your list. Although I did have to google Steve Earle. ;-)
Oh Isa. I too want to be an apple tree in the next life!