Breathing in, and logging out

This essay is a continuation of a previous writing titled “quick, look, a distraction!” about regaining an attention span from the clutches of our smartphones.

I have grown up straddling the age of the internet, my first social media account on Myspace coinciding with my first year of college. I was able to have an album of photos of food I made, a blog of little poems and essays, and a playlist of songs I liked on a page with my name on it. It could be seen by a few folks I liked and that I suppose liked me. The best of what the internet could be to me was a library. A place to find journalism, interesting facts, music videos, and send a message to a group of friends inviting them for dinner. I could also select the next Netflix dvd to be sent to me in the mail, and find handmade things on Etsy. I spend time recalling this to bring to mind the vision of what we thought this thing was for when it still served us.

I built this cottage bakery thanks in large part to Instagram. New customers found me, and photos of my bread online before the algorithm age, in a time when the internet was “shared” organically person to person. I reached my neighbors, friends of friends, and their families. My writing accompanied photos and folks took the time to read it, and replied thoughtfully. I gave baking advice to beginners, shared experience with new cottage bakers, and built classes and sold quite a lot of books. Those books materialized into real people baking real bread in their homes with their families. That wasn’t just a thumbs up on a screen, it was a whole life. I connected with other amazing authors and bakers doing really good work in real communities all over the United States, and even the world. They marched right off that screen and into my front door to cook and bake with me.

Somewhere in the last few years however, the online social media space has become something I don’t quite recognize. I know that when I look my customers and friends in the eye. they are still the good, kind, supportive thoughtful people I’ve always known. Has everyone changed into monsters overnight? That simply isn’t possible, or what I’m willing to believe.

Something has changed though, and it seems to me that it’s the profit making motives and unchecked voraciousness of some tech billionaires we don’t know. They have changed the place that should have been our carefully curated library of good information, smart ideas and deep thoughts into an outrage casino full of nonsense, advertising, ai slop and grifters. Algorithms mean that mainlining outrage we didn’t subscribe to isn’t optional there anymore. There seems to be no way to turn off the meme-ification of our communities, flattening nuanced discussion into clickbait. Tech’s pursuit of profits has led to more of the same, and we’re paying for it with our eyeballs, our attention spans, and our mental health.

The collective questions that seem to rise up from our hearts is, how do we end this unstoppable horrifying frustration machine. The uncomfortable answer for me sadly is, I simply have to log off. As a business owner, I have plenty to lose out on without social media presence. There will be books I don’t sell, customers that never arrive at my bakery, and potential students that don’t find their way to my classes. In my place will be some other sourdough pipeline they’ll slide down via an algorithm that aims to keep them perpetually online and a little bit frustrated. In spite of this, it’s a deal with the devil that I can’t keep making.

I also don’t really want to spend anymore time, eyeballs or energy on the things I don’t want. I need the space, time and clear mindedness to envision what I do. I want a slower world, a curious world, and a truthful one. I don’t want a hastily fired off opinion in the moment from some random account I’ll never cross paths with again. (And the reaction to that opinion, and the takedown of that opinions reaction, followed by another opinion) I want the whole years long journey from someone who did the research and wrote the book on the topic and cited their sources. I want multiple books. I want print media full of details from reputable journalists who track down the whole story. I want museums full of of our shared stories and histories, national parks conserved by passionate guardians, and universities full of the deep work of study and thought. I want a theater full of cinema from 100 years ago and in translation from around the world, intimate concerts full of music that feels ephemeral. A symphony, a ballet, a play, a novella that strikes through the heart of the matter. I want to talk about those things with you. We’ll chat when I see you on any old Thursday, or when you reply to this email. Until next week, I’m logging out!