David McElroy

I don’t want to live in Mark Zuckerberg’s “Metaverse.” I’ve already see what Zuckerberg and Co. have to offer. Regardless of their intentions, the results of living in the virtual world they’ve created have been monstrous.

I embraced the online world far earlier than most. I had my first CompuServe account in about 1986. Before long, I was deeply involved in forums, message boards and bulletin boards. I became part of the early culture of “cyberspace.” We saw ourselves as pioneers — and we believed we were part of something great which would change everything.

As those early nerds days evolved into the fashionable world of social media, I came along for the ride. But over time, I became horrified at what I saw. Those of us who thought we were pioneers in something great were wrong.

We were pioneers who laid a foundation for something which would ultimately cause damage in “the real world.” And now that Facebook and other social media platforms have shown us just how dangerous they can be, Zuckerberg is asking us to double-down on trusting him — by joining him in something he calls “the Metaverse.”

If we have a shred of wisdom remaining in our online-addicted brains, we will run screaming from the dystopian future which Zuckerberg is so eager to sell to us.

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As I walked Lucy through the neighborhood a couple of nights ago, I waved at a neighbor who was sitting on his front porch and smoking a cigarette. I like this guy a lot, but my immediate reaction was judgment.

“He knows that’s deadly,” I thought. “Why in the world would he keep doing something that’s going to kill him?”

And then my inner observer laughed at me mockingly.

“And why do you keep eating things that you know will kill you?” the voice teased. “Do you think you’re better than he is?”

I’m a hypocrite. You probably are, too. We all love to judge others harshly while we create excuses for behaviors in ourselves which are just as bad — and sometimes worse. My deadly diet is among my worst habits — and it makes me a hypocrite to criticize anyone else who’s making unhealthful choices.

I fear that the modern American diet is going to kill me. Nobody is forcing it on me, but I feel trapped in a deadly pattern — and there are many millions on the same path of slow suicide with me.

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For a few weeks now, I’ve been thinking a lot about some simple questions.

What does it mean to waste your life?

And if you discover you really are wasting your life, what do you do about it?

I’ve known that I wanted to talk about this for awhile — ever since I saw an odd exhortation on a church sign near my house. It said, “Please don’t waste your life.” I didn’t disagree with the sentiments of the sign — although I’m unclear what their context was — but I started thinking about how few people even realize their lives are wasted until it’s too late.

That led me to thinking about my own life — and how my thoughts about a life worth living have changed over the years. But I wasn’t really ready to talk about it until I passed a house near my office Monday afternoon and saw a front yard with two two adult-size chairs and one child-size chair.

Then I knew how I wanted to conclude this. Maybe it won’t apply to you, but it feels true for me.

Tap or click below to listen. And please forgive the train in the distance at the end. I’m not really worrying about avoiding such sounds anymore. Keep Reading