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I somehow feel I’m only supposed to write things on a blog that make me sound like a smart writer person. Ostensibly, this was why I quiet-quit Substack, because I didn’t like writing in a place where I felt like I always had to adopt the same tone, the same voice and straight ahead approach. But here I am doing it again. When really I just want to come in here and write about being on the internet. Like maybe it’s impossible to write “authentically” on the internet at all. Maybe that shouldn’t be my goal. Maybe that’s a hangover from confessional essay markets of the 2010s. I’m not saying I want this to be a wacky exercise in speculative autofiction (although…), just that I wish I didn’t care so much.

It’s been six months since I quit instagram and deleted my personal account*. It has been interesting. I read a lot more. Basically all of the time I would have spent before scrolling I now spend reading and writing. And I already did a lot of that. I also reach out to friend more, sometimes just to say hello, not to plan anything. I’ve realized this is how I (we?) use instagram, and I miss that aspect sometimes. It could be overwhelming, but I feel lonelier now. I don’t actually think I’m any more lonely than I was when I was on instagram, but I’m noticing it more now, I’m not avoiding it or distracted from it. I’m not really sure what to do with this information. I’ve been writing more letters. I reach out to friends but everyone’s really busy or working all the time or just never responds because life, which is also something I do. And it’s okay. I don’t mind being a little lonely. I just read more.

Another quandary is what to do with things that I publish. Before, I’d figure out a cringey way to visually alert people that my writing exists. But now I try to remember to share more with my friends. I typically write with my friends in my mind as my audience in the first place, so I’m not sure why it’s felt like such a big leap to share my published stories with them, as opposed to blasting it to an anonymous audience of people, I don’t know.

But this is a year where I’m practicing coiling in on myself. Taking things slower, feeling what it’s like not being connected all the time to everyone I’ve ever met. Getting to know myself better. Next year I’ll have a new book in the world, I’ll be hosting residencies at the farm. I’ll be projecting outside myself more. All things I’m excited about, but I’m trying not to hurry it along. I’m doing my best to enjoy this big snail year before things speed up again.