One Year on Substack

Reflecting on a year of consistent writing, unchaining ourselves from followers & likes, and what Taylor Lorenz's book, EXTREMELY ONLINE, teaches us about reclaiming our power online

When I began this Substack a year ago, my intention was simple: hold myself to the goal of writing and publishing something every week. It had been years since I’d kept a personal blog or made monthly contributions to Brainline.org, and I was excited by what I was witnessing in this space: creatives connecting with other creatives, writers offering generous, high-quality advice to one another, folks carving out creative niches for themselves in a mostly unspoiled corner of the internet.

While I was hopeful for readers, the idea that people might pay for this content was an afterthought, so I have been both honored and surprised to grow followers here, and for the generosity of those who make it possible for me to carve out the time to craft a weekly newsletter (here’s looking at you, Mom).

On the flip side, I’m not terribly surprised to have lost a few followers in the past weeks. Here and on other social media apps, folks are purging their feeds, whittling down the voices of influence to which they subscribe, and intentionally reshaping their online exposure. This has been the response after each of the last three presidential elections, and it seems only natural. With so much to disagree on at the moment, so much to fuel our anxiety, we’re all entitled to our own safe spaces.

I do admit, however, to giving a little side-eye to those surprised to learn that their favorite authors vote for socially progressive candidates. Writing is, after all, the ultimate practice in developing empathy.

As users of the web, we’ve been manipulated into thinking that our personal impact can be measured by likes, dislikes, followers, and platform size, when, in reality, our legacies as humans are an amalgamation of a thousand factors, distilled, wisely, in the words of Maya Angelou:

Intellectually, I think many of us understand that our impact as community members, parents, spouses, children, and colleagues is where the real meat and potatoes of influence lie. Still, we may find ourselves stung by the minor rejection of being unfollowed or disagreed with, and that, too, is an explainable phenomenon: social media has literally rewired our brains to interpret these instances as threatening.

It’s embarrassing, really, to be a grown adult and feel verklempt over losing “friends” online, yet many of us do! Which begs the question: who is in control here? Our logic or our addiction?

Taylor Lorenz’s book Extremely Online takes us back to the early days of social media. From Friendster to MySpace and the rise of Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok, Lorenz reminds us that we are players in a quarter-trillion-dollar industry - one in which the consumers have always driven the future. As the landscape continues to change rapidly, Lorenz warns us,

“We are all pressured to commodify ourselves, our lives, and our relationships in increasingly invasive ways. And we face a grave contagion in the form of disinformation and hate by influencers who otherwise would have been constrained by the limits of budget and public access.”

Increasingly, I find myself frustrated by what feels like the chokehold of social media. I make and post reels even when it feels stupid. I post more often than I want just to keep my horse in the race. I find myself clicking on reels intended to sell me more stuff on Amazon so that the cabinets in my bathroom (that NO ONE ever sees) will look as neat and organized as everyone else’s. I once literally typed a keyword into the comments in order to receive a healthy muffin recipe (and no, I’ve never made those muffins. Who has time for baking muffins??).

In each of these instances, I’ve had to side-eye myself, which is a very good indication that, for me, these engagements do not feel authentic. What does? Sharing my words here, with the opportunity to unpack ideas at length, with the possibility of initiating a dialogue about topics I believe matter.

I can’t speak for anyone but myself, and I’m not here to judge. What feels icky to me maybe someone else’s bread and butter, and for that, great! I’m 42 years old, and what I want out of the internet is very likely to be different from what a 20-year-old wants out of it.

What I can suggest is this:

While we weed our digital gardens, so to speak, let us make decisions based on more than just who agrees with our opinions. Let’s use this opportunity to answer a few tricky questions for ourselves:

1. What contributes to my mental well-being?

2. What challenges me in a healthy way?

3. What do I WANT from my experiences online?

God love the hard-working influencers of the world, but I do not need their labor in order to do my part for capitalism. I’ve spent years enriching Jeff Bezos and every other billionaire out there, and not even my meticulously organized bathroom cabinet has saved me from the existential quest of embuing meaning in my life.

So, what matters now?

• Continuing to write.

• Connecting with others (supporting other writers in their endeavors and helping kids find their writing voices is the ultimate balm for my soul).

• Showing up for neighbors and friends (several of whom are grieving, going through shit diagnoses, or struggling to keep it together at this moment).

I was deeply comforted by the post-election conversation on We Can Do Hard Things, in which Amanda reminds us that government is not our “Mommy” and “Daddy.” We don’t need a mandate from anyone to show up for each other, do the right thing, or fight for the safety of others. We can simply just… do it.

For many of us, clicking “unsubscribe” or “unfollow” is an important step in freeing ourselves up to do the work that matters most to us. Likewise, seeking out the voices that inspire us to keep going is a practice of self-love.

Let’s acknowledge this: navigating life online is extraordinarily challenging. Without constant vigilance, we risk reverting to autopilot, giving up our consumer power, and falling prey to addiction. Most days, I have no idea how I’m going to guide my two children through this component of their education. But a tiny voice tells me that my own habits will play the most influential role in their choices, which is why I, like others, am seizing this moment to alter the script.

To those who have followed my writing here for the past 365 days: THANK YOU. I especially love reading your comments, which make me feel so very much that we are on the same wavelength and inspire me to keep writing, even on the days I doubt the value of my own voice.

And a special thank you to my paid subscribers.

I am icked by paywalls, but I understand their utility. I honestly think NPR is crazy for giving me top-notch news for free all these years. If they insisted I paid, I would (I probably owe them $$$$ in back pay). Because part of my digital cleanse involves putting my dollar where my mouth is (and getting karmically right with NPR), I want to emphasize that paid subscribers make it possible for everyone to enjoy content for free. That’s a remarkable gift. If contributing is within your budget, thank you for considering it. If not, I hope you know how immensely glad I am to have your eyes on my words anyway.

As my friend Jennifer Pastiloff is known for saying: I got you. We got each other. That’s what this place is all about.