I cannot STAND “kids these days” essays about the Internet and social media.
This essay assumes that social media drives us to share our meaningful stories. It doesn’t. It pressures us to share pre-filtered messages, or things we know others will like. (Food, babies, long walks in nature, wine with friends, beach pics, etc.)
I started blogging when I was in middle school, but the nakedness of social media completely changed my habits, and I’m still kind of pissed about it. It motivated me to write almost exclusively in a physical journal and in private blog posts. Because I stopped wanting to hold up things that matter to me for other people to like or dislike or ignore. And it still gives me the exact sort of pressure build that this writer describes, the feeling that maybe I really might have a story to tell someday. Which is comforting.
So, anyway, thanks for this lazy essay about the Internet ruining the fine art of storytelling, but I’m absolutely sure it’s alive and well.