Dreaming of an exit for manymany years

I left social media. A different life awaits.

I grew up hating computers. I also hated television. When social media appeared, I dipped in and out of Hi5 and proceeded to hate social media too, Facebook in particular, which was all the rage.

I despised Instagram when it appeared because all the dumbasses were on there. A dumbass was everyone who couldn’t take a decent photograph and, to my knowledge, had no interest in the arts and, yet, insisted to serve the world their out of focus meal times, slanted monument visits, over exposed feet in the grass. Pardon my past self’s arrogance.

*pictures like this — Benny and me, at 14 yo ⤴️

Facebook imposed itself in my life when I moved countries in 2012. Instagram creeped in when I became desperate enough. The app for dumbasses was the easy instrument for putting creative work out. One could do everything on their phone: no further knowledge of tech was needed, no need to show face, no effort required other than weaving a string of words together, capturing an alluring enough image. All I needed was to start.

As a young creative petrified by a sense of ridicule, social media was the answer to the prayers I didn’t know I said. It enabled me to do all of the things I was too fearful to do out in the open. I could both write and be read immediately, and create an image of myself. Instagram, in particular, enabled me to close the gap between the person I was and the person I envisioned myself being.

Contrary to my angst, I was the artistic person already but I was the artistic person insecurely. Self-doubt oozed from me. Hiding behind a screen, I could practice, I could perform, I could momentarily stash away my crippling fear of failure. I wrote and wrote and wrote — typos and mistakes included — but none of it mattered because it was “just” social media. I recorded videos of myself — stuttering upon my words — but it didn’t matter because, at the time, the fact that I showed up was impressive enough to most people. For this opportunity to fail in public, I’m grateful, as well as the readership I gained.

Soon, the app gained control over my life. I was sharing, not everything, but A LOT on its feed and stories: all the hospitality and cultural institutions I visited, any and all gatherings and parties, most of my friends, an abundance of innermost thoughts. Soon after, I was a writer, with work sprinkled online, and in print too.

*she’d be proud — in Malta, 1998 ⤴️

The digital architecture that once felt so effortless and forgiving, required more and more of me along the years. The more I gave, the more it took. From particular posting times, frequency and hashtags to ever evolving, über specific content formats and ever expansion to yet another digital platform, a stream of both dull and innovative content was expected of me at all times.

I was supposed to serve the algorithm — an entity shrouded in mystery — that dictated what I should be posting, when, how much. The entity rewarded no particular logic other than (LRO) LITERAL, REPETITIVE & OBVIOUS. But sometimes things could get too LRO and one’s entire livelihood came crumbling down. One had to get used to function in entropy.

At first, we thought the problem was Facebook, but it became progressively clear that the issue had become structural. Algorithms and their tech bosses made one — for profit — manic, infinity loop out of the internet, a place where any semblance of meaning is lost. The profit extracted from these platforms created a new oligarchy: men with a distaste for anything that doesn’t make them money. Hostage to this hellscape as I was, it’s been manymany years of dreaming of an exit.

In the meantime, and after a few dark nights of the soul, I learned to connect and create and use my talents in person. My background is in theatre so in person is where I come from. I work with small communities: creative circles with no more than 10 people, a small team of writers on Amsterdive, storytelling events with an audience of five dozen. I write for more people, but I have a hunch that those actually reading my essays don’t exceed that.

The other day, I innocently opened Instagram before bed (I know, I know). I had to find whatever piece of information within the rubble of reactions and messages on my DMs. Before getting there, I saw images. Distressing was a understatement. I recoiled and forgot to retrieve the information I needed. I had a horrible nightmare that night. Forgot to do the thing I needed to do the next day.

*at an Instameet (remember those?) ⤴️

As a result of our attention economy, there are many gruesome images stuck in my mind. Piles of starved humans in Auschwitz, pigs biting their own tails in animal concentration camps, a jailer walking a crawling human dressed in orange on a leash in Guantanamo, a three year old orphan staring at a dirty wall after losing the entirety of his family to indiscriminate bombings in Gaza, and, most recently, an endless queue of half-naked, blindfolded men methodically crouched into one another at a mega prison in El Salvador.

Given the fact that I am already doing my homework — imperfectly but, still, something — I see no reason why I should be subjecting myself to the whippings of an algorithm that thinks all I deserve are more and more extreme versions of the content I previously consumed.

What I post offers me no comfort or feedback anymore, all the posts I share on actual important topics are met with radio-silence and seem to trigger no action or compassion on individuals that are either completely desensitized + emotionally frozen or are too self-centered to care of about anything that doesn’t impact them directly. People could also be — to put it quite simply — too coward. Anyone who has the empathy or the balls is already involved and we’re preaching to the choir which — just like the algorithm — is exhausting and arguably unhelpful.

I came full circle: I hate social media again. I’m far from alone in this, that much I know. Or maybe I don’t hate social media itself, but mass media. Unregulated mass media is inherently capital centered. It protects human well-being to the extent that those actions maximize profit. The moment that profits are not growing — or the political tide changes — the humans these organizations claim to serve don’t matter anymore.

Anywho, this rant is getting long, and what I really wanted to say is that I’ve decided to ditch these quick dopamine fixes for something of a bit more substance: books, crafting, physical movement and gatherings with real people (not their social media handles). And, perhaps most importantly, time for boredom.

*do more of this!!! — with bff Elizabeth ⤴️

Boredom is downtime from where one eventually reconnects. Boredom offers an opportunity to get more present. And I want to be more present because I like my life. I suspect that I’ll like it even more with less chaotic, meaningless interference. I’ll be better able to remember and refocus on my purpose. There, I SAID IT — the big word. Purpose isn’t one almighty thing: it involves a number of different clauses and commitments that are easy to forget if our environment is noisy all the time. Boredom is the birthplace of meaning.

I want to be able to hear my own thoughts. I want to go beyond the dull rumination of the mind, panicky from a lack of distraction. I know this will be extremely challenging at times, but I want to see what’s underneath, and it’s a better use of my time to attempt this while I’m still sane. The alternative would be waiting until I’m burnt out (been there, done that) or until I run out of functioning neurons. I want to be able to nourish and float on my own imagination, and pull whatever bizarre story from it. Or reimagine a different world. Only an unobstructed mind can come up with something different, something of worth.

All this to say: I ditched socials. I’ll remain anywhere longform lives. I have an email. I have this newsletter. I’ll be on notes (for the time being). Those of you who have my number can contact me via Signal because, soon, WhatsApp will be a thing of the past for me too. If you’re on a similar journey, come say hi.