Finding Myself Beyond the Feed: An Artist’s Journey

Many times, I’ve caught myself wondering if social media is worth it. Not just the apps themselves, but the mindless, anxious routines they bring—the endless scroll that pulls you under like a strong, cold current. Every swipe feels like a mix of anxiety and urgency, as if the next post might hold something vital or life-altering. Spoiler: it rarely does.  

Art piece inspired by this train of thought.

This isn’t the first time I’ve considered leaving, or even tried to. But each time, the pull of staying—of being relevant, accessible, findable—has brought me back. I’ve been afraid that if I step off this nebulous highway of endless content, I’ll disappear entirely. That the people who might need me, or want to connect, won’t know where to look.  

But here’s the truth I’ve started to understand: relevance isn’t tied to algorithms. The kind of connections I crave, and the kind of art I want to make, have never been about keeping pace with trends or appeasing the gods of engagement. They’re about slowing down. About finding and creating spaces where the frantic noise dies away and thoughtful, meaningful exchanges can happen.  

The reason I’ve failed before, I think, is that I left without a plan. Social media had been my primary tool for sharing and engaging, and without it, I felt adrift. I wasn’t just an artist without a platform—I was a person without a clear sense of how to consume or share in a way that felt right.  

This time, I’m approaching it differently. I have a plan.  

As an artist, I’ve realized what fulfills me most is crafting work that comes from a place of genuine intention. I don’t want to rush out content with the sole aim of catching your fleeting attention. Instead, I want to create pieces—whether visual, written, or spoken—that encourage reflection, that invite you into a slower, deeper conversation. That’s why I’m shifting my focus to newsletters, blogs, and YouTube. These platforms allow me to engage with others in a way that feels meaningful, without the constant pressure to perform or compete.  

And as a consumer, I want to take back control of the media I let into my life. I want to stay curious, to seek out information beyond the curated, censored bubbles of social media. That means exploring forums, joining thoughtful Discord communities, and supporting independent creators and zines. It’s a way to surround myself with ideas and conversations that don’t fit neatly into a feed but nourish my curiosity and soul in ways an algorithm never could.  

There’s a global exhaustion right now—a kind of collective burnout. And while there are many reasons for it, social media feels like one of the biggest culprits. It’s amplified hostility, fostered divisive spaces, and blurred the line between our personal and public selves in ways that feel suffocating.  

I recently watched a video that called this modern internet era the “age of spam,” where so much of what we consume and create is just noise—content for the sake of content. It resonated deeply with me. I don’t want to be part of that.  

My rebellion is small, but it feels right: I’m building a quiet space with my work. A space of rest. A space that invites thoughtful dialogue and gentle questioning. It won’t be for everyone, but it will be for those who are ready to step off the manic treadmill of social media. It will be for those looking for something softer, slower, and more intentional.  

If you’re seeking that, I hope this space will find you. On our own terms. In our own time.  

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