If you’ve ever repeated a road trip, you’ll know the acquaintance you can make with it. Particular exits and overpasses become familiar and signal your progress. You come to recognize the unofficial mile markers along your way. For me, the surest of them all are the mountains of West Virginia.
West Virginia is the dividing line for any Ohio-Florida trip. On your way south, hitting Charleston is when the trip sets in; the sun rises as you meet the morning commuters. Heading home, it’s West Virginia where the sun sets and you feel the vacation come to its close. If the St. Louis bridge is known as the gateway to the West, I’d call West Virginia’s tunnels my gateway back north.
Driving the Appalachians does something to me. Take the aforementioned ephemera, add to it the natural beauty, and toss on a good playlist. I barely make it through the state before moving there in my imagination; I picture a simpler life in the houses that sprinkle the hills.
A few houses are especial temptations. You know the type; you wind a corner to behold a beautiful wooden home set just above eye level on the hill—a modest palace. There’s not a neighbor or driveway in view, and why should there be? The only relevant travel is the walk to the porch, where the homeowner sips coffee and basks in the view.
I made it.
In my adolescent years, I remember seeing a beautiful house on such a drive. Witnessing the pine palace through the rear window of our minivan, I removed one earpod to remark, “I want to live there.”
“Why?” my parents replied, at least a little confused.
“The view!” It had seemed obvious to me, but their nonunanimous agreement now gave me pause.
“The view is of the highway,” someone answered offhand.
I was jumbled. Had we just witnessed the same piece of real estate?
They were right, though. I was looking at the house—not from it. From my vantage point, it was something of a dream. From the homeowner’s view, it’s noisy highway and a litter-lined fence.
“I guess I don’t want to live there. I want a house like that one. Somewhere else.”
Potentially, it’s an expensive lesson for the highway homeowner. Next time, a little further down the road.
Everybody wants to be famous. We idolize those who are the picture of fame and success.
TikTok became the dominate social platform by offering predictable virality—use the app consistently, and your turn will come. It gives us all a little of what we want. Celebrity is no longer kept for a few; it’s in your pocket waiting to be activated.
Don’t exclude yourself too quickly. You might not picture your face on a screen, but perhaps it’s that office, that salary, that long-deserved appreciation. For me, it’s the day I can pay my bills as a writer.
As I learn to build up a base, I’ve taken keen interest in the opposite angle: When does it all get annoying?
It comes in small hints. Podcasters discuss their addresses being doxxed. Musicians fear walking through the airport. One author casually mentioned the death threats he receives in the mail. I don’t know where that line is, but I certainly don’t care to cross it.
Yet on the other hand, what is the safe alternative? I have some fun stories from the neighborhood, and I’m not famous at all. I get scam calls and email, too. No life is perfectly immune.
With the portion of celebrity that’s rationed to us, we also get the consequences: hateful comments, messages, and general anxiety.
My counterintuitive take is that TikTok will inoculate young people to fame. For all its downsides, this will be constructive.
Back in the Hollywood era, many people yearned for stardom because few achieved it. And we hardly believed when the chosen ones showed us their awful lives. It seemed so distant. When we all get tastes of the attention, though, we’ll experience its shadow side personally.
Make no mistake—the digital world is going nowhere. It will continue to grow, and people will keep building platforms. What I’m suggesting is a great middling out—a society of middle-class celebrities. Each will be more famous than the average person 40 years ago, but far short of a Kardashian. “Bigger is better” will stall out—the center of gravity will shift to smaller stages.
Already, the hyper-curated TikTok experience has changed the dialogue. It’s no longer, “Did you see that massive video?” It’s, “I have to show you what I found.” We own our own corner of the algorithm.
Perhaps I’m projecting my own aversion on the emerging generation; I’m certainly not naïve to think they won’t fight for fame. Rather, I think they’ll achieve it, and they’ll realize it’s not worth the fight.
For every house on a highway, there are 99 others hidden somewhere not too far. I don’t want the life that’s nice to look at. I want the one that’s nice to look from.
Tim, I’m soo glad your brother passed this along to the family! This writing was amazing! Just beautiful! I could so relate! Can’t wait to read the others! Keep it up! Keep Faithful to your calling & God will be Faithful!