This morning is the kind I would bottle if I could. Before Sunrise playing softly in the background, a grocery delivery on its way, a stick of chamomile incense making my office space smell amazing. I’m in that gentle in-between state where the world hasn’t yet demanded anything of me.
And I’ve been thinking about part of last night’s conversation with Seth, the kind that runs past dinner and into the hours after the sun goes down. The air cooling around us and filling with drizzle as we sit at our little bistro table, comparing notes on the internet, creativity, and why we’re still here doing this whole “posting things online” dance after all these years.
The short version?
We’re obviously both still doing it, but it’s different now. Very different.
Back in My LiveJournal Days...
When Seth and I first met (over 20 years ago now) we were both living in the wild frontier days of LiveJournal. Back then, blogging didn't have much to do with clout or follower counts yet. You posted because you wanted to make a connection with other people. You wrote something heartfelt, and maybe a stranger in another time zone commented back with something equally heartfelt.
You built friendships on words alone.
Fast forward to now, and it’s like everyone’s been replaced by a marketing department in human form. So many people seem to be here purely to acquire – followers, customers, attention, anything that can be converted into currency.
I actually can't believe I know other writers, bloggers, and creators who are “successful” in the modern sense, but have also openly (shamelessly!) admitted they don’t actually enjoy writing. That blows my mind every time. Imagine hating something as magical as personal writing from the heart can be, but still doing it daily because the machine demands it.
I already had a job I hated when I first got online and started writing. The last thing I needed was another one.
The Sea of Tears (a.k.a The Internet in 2025)
The truth is, with everyone and their mom trying to be a “content creator” now, it’s harder than ever to get your stuff discovered, even if it's heartfelt and amazing on every level. The algorithms aren’t designed to showcase what’s good. They’re designed to surface what will make them money.
You could pour your whole-ass soul into a masterpiece, and it’ll get shown to three people and a bot. Meanwhile, someone else’s “here’s my lunch” post goes viral because it hit the right TikTok audio trend.
And when you do get noticed? Half the time, it’s the kind of attention you don’t want. Trolls telling you to kill yourself. Bots. Spam. People who suddenly think you’re their new best friend and therefore owe them your energy and emotional labor forever.
It’s like throwing a party, only to find out most of your guests are either hecklers or pyramid scheme recruiters.
Why I'm Not Mad Anymore
Here’s the shift that’s saved me. I no longer hang my creative satisfaction on what happens after I hit “post.” If Medium decides they feel like boosting something of mine, and it earns me some cash? Great. But I don’t need it to anymore. My worth isn’t attached to the “success” of any one thing anymore.
That's freed me up in ways I didn’t expect.
I’m no longer secretly hoping every piece will be the one that changes my life. I’m not obsessing over my numbers and feeling my mood sink because they aren’t climbing fast enough. (In fact, I rarely check stats these days.) I’m not getting bitter that people aren’t recognizing my “genius." Or worse, they are recognizing it, but in creepy or draining ways.
In other words, I’ve built myself a little mountain cabin, just like the one on the oracle card I pulled as part of my daily spread this morning. A metaphorical space where I can work, experiment, and enjoy the process without letting the noise in.
The Mountain Cabin Rules
- Make things for joy first, audience second. If it isn’t fun, why am I doing it?
- Judge my work by my truth, not their numbers.
- Sail steady, don’t chase every wave. (Especially not on the Sea of Tears.)
- Answer only the call that feels like home. No more chasing “opportunities” that feel wrong.
- Keep the cabin stocked. Inspiration, rest, quiet. All essentials.
These aren’t rules to make me “better at marketing.” They’re rules to keep me sane, inspired, and madly in love with making things.
Four Months In
It’s been almost four months since I rebooted my creative life using this approach, starting with that first Wandering Pen exercise I did, and I can say with confidence that it’s working.
I haven’t slipped back into my old patterns. I haven’t started side-eyeing other people’s numbers or resenting the internet. I’ve been creating consistently, sharing regularly, and most importantly, actually enjoying it on a level I don't think I have since my early days online when the internet still felt like a wonderland to escape to.
It feels a bit like I’m back on LiveJournal, except instead of pouring my thoughts into a few online friends’ comment sections, I’m sending them out into a much bigger, stranger world. And instead of fretting over what comes back, I’m content with knowing I made something I liked.
The Cabin's View
Every so often, I still get one of those old, familiar pangs. A thought like, "What if this could be the thing that changes everything?" But I know that’s just the old mindset knocking on the door again, just to see if I still live there.
But these days, I don’t answer the door. Instead, I smile, nod, and keep my focus on what’s inside the cabin. A stack of ideas, a warm mug full of something wonderful to drink, maybe a Linklater movie playing low in the background.
The internet may never go back to the way it was when Seth and I first met. In fact, I feel confident that it will never again be a place where people go primarily to connect for connection’s sake. But I can still protect the little part of it I inhabit. I can make it feel human again, at least for me.
And maybe that’s enough.
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