A Life Recalibrated: Sobriety, Silence, and the Soft Resignation
January 17, 2013
Jonathan Harnisch
Today marks my 37th birthday and, just two days prior, the quiet but profound milestone of a decade of sobriety. Ordinarily, such an occasion might prompt reflection or even celebration, but I find myself in a markedly different space—physically, cognitively, and existentially—than in years past.
A recent traumatic incident—a break-in that resulted in a concussion—has exacerbated preexisting neurological challenges. My vision, already compromised to the point of legal blindness, continues to decline, while dyslexia, once a manageable frustration, now impedes my ability to engage with written language and digital interfaces in any sustained way.
More significantly, there has been a perceptible and disheartening erosion in both public and personal engagement with the work that once defined my voice—Porcelain Utopia, The Real Me and You, Schizophrenic and Caregiver. My presence across social platforms—Twitter, Facebook, and their ilk—feels increasingly performative, detached, and untenable. The tempo of technological change, particularly among the companies I have collaborated with (and continue to), has become unsustainably fast, driven by market pressures and an arms race of innovation that I no longer wish to keep pace with.
Added to this is the darker undercurrent of digital life: the proliferation of stalking, cyber threats, invasive behavior, and anonymous hostility. Though I have largely chosen not to engage or retaliate, the cumulative psychological toll is undeniable. It has clarified my decision to withdraw—not with bitterness, but with deliberate grace.
For those wondering: Porcelain Utopia will remain online for several more years, its hosting prepaid, its content untouched. But my participation in the digital sphere will be sparse at best. I do not intend to maintain the illusion of availability. If I return, it will be sporadic, and on my terms alone.
To those who reached out to acknowledge my recent sobriety milestone or birthday: thank you. Your words—private and sincere—stood apart in their generosity.
Finally, a note on what remains. A film titled On the Bus and Wax is scheduled for distribution in approximately twenty countries this year. One or two new literary works may emerge as well—perhaps under my name, perhaps not. I’ll leave that ambiguity intact. Some art is better born anonymously.
Today, I choose stillness. I choose silence. And I choose, at least for now, to step back from the noise.
—Jonathan Harnisch
