Here’s an emotional reaction I wouldn’t mind a little more insight into.
When I saw David Brooks’ piece listed on the cover of the new Comment issue, I have to admit that I was a little annoyed and/or sad to see it. Absolutely irrespective of who he is married to, I think this has mostly to do with mixing things I don’t want mixed — Comment ain’t a New York Times column.
But there might be more to it.
I tried reading the piece several times this morning, only to sluggishly get through a third of it. I’m sure the whole thing is a wise and commendable piece (here: I commend it to you), and I’m absolutely sure that I both agree with it and would be goodly challenged by it — and by the wisdom of those he pulls it all from.
But I just can’t finish it.
I like David Brooks, I really do. But for all of Brooks’ thoughtfulness and wisdom — he is thoughtful; he is wise — I can’t help feeling that I don’t want to read anything from him for at least the rest of the year.
Have I just grown tired of his writing? Annoyed, even? Is it merely fallout from my current push to unplug every cord from the walls for 167.5 hours of the week?
Or is there something else? Is there possibly something vacuous to it that I just can’t put my finger on?
Would that make it fallout, ripple effect, or feature?
Or is it just me?