I'm Sorry But I'm Unsubscribing
In a world of endless content, we are our best and only gatekeepers separating the noise from the stuff that truly matters. And here's a book to prove my point.
Yesterday, the world lost an enormous human. I’m sad to say I never got to meet Dr. Edith Eger (she was actually my friend’s grandmother), but she changed my life immeasurably, along with millions of others.
I read Dr. Eger’s memoir, The Choice, in 2018, shortly after it was published. A survivor of Auschwitz who endured horrors beyond imagination, Dr. Eger was the human embodiment of neuroplasticity — the brain’s power to heal and remake itself.
Dr. Eger turned trauma into healing, storytelling into transformation, and gathered admirers ranging from Oprah to the Dalai Lama along the way. It has been a privilege to place her book in the hands of nieces, friends, and fellow book lovers. And it will be a very special day when I share The Choice with my own children.
If you haven’t read it, I hope you’ll order it this very moment. You will not come out the same.
There’s a lot of noise in the world right now. A lot of absolute garbage on the internet competing for our attention. If the landscape had been as noisy in 2018 as it is now, there’s a chance I may never have read Dr. Eger’s book. Or that it might be sitting indefinitely on my to-be-read shelf.
On Threads, where I legitimately cannot sort fantasy from fact, AI from human beings, the world seems to be in a state of satirical peril. From cancel culture wars to drama manufactured for marketing purposes, I’ve all but given up on the idea of connecting with any real tribe.
Meanwhile, over on Instagram, my family has been glued to the account of a certain lifestyle influencer who owns a gaudy, all-white estate in rural Pennsylvania and dresses her children like Victorian dolls. Try as we might, we can’t look away. We’re mesmerized by her dead hydrangeas and her children’s giant bows (why can’t I get my daughter to wear a bow? Why can’t I even get her to brush her hair?).
It’s fascination, machination, and a whole lot of imagination going on at the same time. I try to remind myself, “This is not real life. This is a game in which we’re all pawns.”
But what is “real life” these days? And how do we get back to it? How do we turn down the damn noise and find meaning?
To start: We have to Marie Kondo the content in our lives.
Turning down the noise
Take a look at your inbox.
How many of those emails have nourished you in some form? How many have raised your heart rate?
I can only speak for myself, but I am oversubscribed. To clothing brands, to group texts, to delivery alerts, and yes, even to Substack newsletters.
I am one human. And one human cannot read 50+ newsletters, hundreds of emails, full-length books, and The New Yorker’s fiction section each week.
Life is full of choices. We either make them OR risk waterboarding ourselves with content.
Turning down the noise means prioritizing the most important content in our lives. Is it a daily podcast? A book club commitment? Email correspondence with relatives?
Whatever it is, it’s time to pare down.
This week, I am ruthlessly unsubscribing to 5 publications each day. Some choices are easy — I won’t miss the bombardment of retail companies. Others are harder — ideally, I’d love to support every writer on Substack!
Instead of, “Does this spark joy?” I’m asking, “Does this content align with my goals?” If it’s not book research, reading that brings me pleasure, or information to help me get better at x, y, z, it’s not a priority.
Relish the quiet
Less content means more time to tune into the inside of our own brains. More opportunity to digest what we’ve read and turn it into meaning. Last week, I was reading 7 books simultaneously. Seven.
This was a lot of noise during a week when I was thinking through major revisions to a manuscript I’m querying. I needed to get my head in the game. Instead, I felt myself pulled in a dozen directions at once, and at a loss for what to prioritize.
What I needed wasn’t another book. I needed a walk.
Be your own curator
Listen, there are some major stakeholders at work here vying for your attention. They want you enraptured by the influencers, brimming with self-doubt, and constantly distracted. They want you coming back for more, not creating your own content-free bomb shelter.
But here’s the thing: no one else is going to do this work for us.
No one else is going to give us permission to opt out, get clear, and seize the torch. We have to grant it to ourselves.
Your (optional) homework:
Do a content inventory. What are you looking at in a single day? How much of that content is moving you forward? How much of it is sticking in a meaningful way? (How much of it is making you feel “behind” in life?)
Click unsubscribe. It could be 5 times today; it could be once. But find one source of information to eliminate (yes, it could even be this newsletter 🥹, but we’ll miss you if you go).
Spend 20 minutes in quiet. Go on a walk, lie on your bed, draw. But commit to 20 minutes in which you’re not taking in new information. See what happens. Let the creativity marinate.
#WriteWithMe: Checking in with the writers out there! How’s it going? I love catching up with you in the chat, and I’d love to know about your progress.
Are you a writer looking for community and daily accountability? Join us.
I just saw that Anne Hathaway bought the rights to Yesteryear and will be starring in the adaptation. This is on my TBR list.
I was sad to read of Dr. Eger’s passing too. Loved her memoir.
I stumbled upon your profile at Nicole Meier’s Dear Whole Writer. Your message here is one I’ve been trying to live for a while. Substack is the only social media platform I participate in anymore. The distractions were preventing me from paying attention to what matters.