Curse of Choice as Inspired by Chuck Klosterman IV

Everyone in our generation inherently believes they aren't as happy as everyone used to be. We have this big conception that we are all alone and alienated where people used to be, what, buddies with everyone in our town? Our parents didn't grow up in Mayberry, they didn't waltz down to Floyd the Barber's and get their hair cut by a guy that's known them since they were born, and we know that if we think about it. But for some reason, we still have this idea that our generation is so much different. We're the 'ipod generation,' aren't we? But look at what titles other eras have earned for its youth - World War I's Lost Generation, The Greatest Generation of World War II, the Beats of the fifties, Generation X. They all shared something really huge - what we share is a three inch long piece of hardware that we plug into... But really, we aren't crazy. We are missing something that our parents and the generations before them had. We are missing a collective culture. It's really the paradox of choice, we have so many alternatives that its actually keeping us from having anything in common with anyone else. (now entering a direct quote from the aforementioned title) We want the maximum number of alternatives; in the short term, choice improves our lives, and we're completely aware of that. The problematic rub is that - over time - choice isolates us. We have fewer shared experiences, and that makes us feel alone. The proliferation of choice makes us feel vaguely alienated, and that makes us depressed. But this relationship is not something we're conscious of, because it seems crazy to attribute loneliness to freedom. We just think we're inexplicably less happy than we should be. (this is me again) For example, if you are out browsing Barnes and Noble and the fellow next to you picks up a Bell Orchestre CD and you say 'hey, that's my favorite eleven-piece prog instrumental album ever!,' your chances of getting the number of said browser increase a good forty percent. If your new lab partner off-handedly quotes a line from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, you will immediately like this girl more. If at lunch you hear a group of sophomores discussing how cool Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers was when we were little, you will question the supposed inferiority of said underclassmen and even join in, adding how there is no way 'Jake Long: American Dragon' could ever compare to the most ridiculous episode of 'Ducktales.' That's not the purpose of art and culture (i can't believe I just called Ducktales culture...) but it's probably the biggest social benefit; these shared expreiences are how we connect with other people, and it's how we understand our own identity. However, all of the examples I mentioned are specific and personal; they are only pockets of shared existance. They are things individual people choose to understand, and finding others who understand them equally are products of coincidence. But our parents didn't have this problem. Everyone knew who the Beatles were, everyone knew who Johnny Carson was. They were things everybody understood, even if they didn't try. Which is why we may never have another Johnny Carson. When given the choice, we'd all rather be happy now... even if that guarantees we'll all be sad later.