Seeking Escape, Seeking Answers

When I was in the throes of young motherhood, raising three little kids and editing a parenting magazine from home, I signed up for a bunch of email groups for moms. I wanted to tune into what parents were talking about and arguing about. I wanted to know which issues packed the most punch among mothers like me. The flood of email that began arriving helped a lot in terms of story ideas and even finding contributors for the magazine, but it also got me wondering about where some of these women found the time to contribute so voluminously to so many email groups while also pulling babies away from outlets and wringing out the cloth diapers we were all so dutifully committed to. Some of those moms, I came to think, were actually addicted to email and the escape it must have offered from the isolation of being home all day with babies. I thought someday I might write a feature story on this topic, but it never materialized.

Since then, my work and family life have changed. The kids are busy with school and sports and music lessons, and I’m busy teaching most of the day. Although I’m still writing, I use email less than I used to. But I still like it quite a bit, and probably depend on it more than I should. It’s a habit born of many years of being self-employed and working from home. I check my messages first thing in the morning and last thing before bed, and multiple times in between. I’m always hoping for some piece of good fortune to arrive in my inbox. It could be an acceptance letter on a query I’ve sent out, or a kind word from a reader, or a letter from my sister or a friend. It could even, these days, be a note from one of my kids. Even though it’s usually just a lot of work-related documents crossing the transom along with offers to enlarge my penis, I still check with a sense of inexplicable anticipation…which usually ends in disappointment.

So now, it’s Google I turn to most for the possibility of enlightenment and surprise. I love Google. Oftentimes, when I should be working, I find myself Googling instead. I can’t be bothered with advanced search techniques involving signs and symbols. I prefer a more esoteric approach, based on a belief in serendipity and fate. I have Googled everything from “good ideas” to “meaning mystery life.” I particularly enjoy Googling for obscure beauty secrets and the diagnoses for any ailments that might arise in the family. With Google’s help, I have accurately identified everything from ingrown toenails to more complicated problems, such as hair dye gone wrong. I know that my stepdaughter Lily was especially grateful when I Googled her green hair and determined that professional intervention was advised. My son Max was less impressed when I misdiagnosed his poison ivy as ringworm, but the mistake was quickly remedied by our corner pharmacist. No lasting damage was done, except to my credibility.

All this Googling is decadent, I’ll admit, and usually an extravagant waste of time, but sometimes it pays off. About a year ago, in the midst of Googling the day away, I stumbled upon a potential client for my grant-writing business. I fired off a letter of interest and within twenty-four hours had secured the largest single deal I’d ever made, plus a stream of ongoing work that continues to this day. Sometimes, since then, I Google words like “jackpot” or “lots money little work,” just in case. I can’t deny that a couple of times I have Googled myself, but, as often seems to be the case, results on my big sister are more impressive.

Something tells me there is a limit to the usefulness of Google, and I might be approaching it. But it’s not easy to quit. Real life is full of complicated situations with no apparent answers. Families are hotbeds of emotion and need. The political world is highly complex, to the point where I often feel powerless in my efforts to get true clarity and effect meaningful change. Work is a reliable source of anxiety, as are questions about whether or not I’m doing enough well enough to hold my own in a competitive economy. For God’s sake, the male fish in Britain are turning into females and the microbe responsible for mad cow disease is proliferating in our food supply as we speak. In a world that seems increasingly out of control, Google is an escape of sorts. It’s a place where answers are free, easy, and instant—if only I can stumble on the right question.