I'm Sick Of The Online Performance. I'm Also The One Performing.

I came across this note by the often brilliant Ryan Hennessey.

When I read it, I agreed with his take. I often feel that malaise of scrolling, fully aware of my utter lack of connection. I am sick of the performance and bullshit.

It was Ryan’s take on connection that floored me.

“We crave connection. Something real. Words that make us feel something—”

Oh, I was feeling something. I saved the note and sat with this angst in my gut.

Not About Hypocrisy. Sort Of.

I sat awhile to lay hold of what had me stirred up.

The obvious and cheap take is to point out Ryan posted content in a branded performance for engagement. His note is itself designed to travel. He’s using the mechanics he’s arguing against. It would be easy to call him to task. And I’d be wrong.

So let me kick that idea to the curb.

A small part of me scoffed at the idea of connection. That’s a real struggle for me. The structure of the interwebs makes it difficult for me to communicate effectively. I often feel like connection online is shallow because the medium gets in the way. Not that it stops me from trying.

No, what had me jerking on my strings is the fact that I use the very mechanics Ryan condemns.

I engineer titles to stop or at least slow the scroll. I create images to build a “branded” look. I tag my essays so people can discover them. And curate my links in my socials.

I’m not standing outside of the problem. I am the problem.

Shit. (I’d say f*ck here, but that’s a bit much, no?)

Is It Real?

The internet bombards us with content. Content upon content. Scads.

Yes. I get lost watching reels and videos, reading content, and just scrolling like I was digging for gold. Sometimes, I even find a flake or two.

But it’s mostly turds. Like me. I am the polished turd on the internet. All the branding and polishing and finagling creates a “look” but we’re still looking at turds. Not all of it, but…

Way back in the dark ages when we recorded music on cassettes, (link to cassettes explained) Memorex had an advertising campaign. They had people listen to music and asked them, “Is it live, or is it Memorex?”

The pitch was Memorex was so good people couldn’t tell the difference between live and recorded music. This is part of the problem Ryan brought up.

I look at content and often ask, is it real? AI? I find it harder and harder to distinguish between what AI created and what a human created.

If I find a post that stirs me up, what happens when I reach out to the creator? Will it be a real person? Or a channel curated by a creator using AI?

Connection then becomes risky at best. A waste of time often. And leaves me wanting something more.

So Ryan’s post had me wondering if people look at my stuff and ask “Is this real? Or AI?” And who has time for that?

Can You Hear “ME”?

No, this is not a screed against AI. Because the question goes deeper.

“How do I get heard?”

That’s the question that drives us online, doesn’t it? Whatever it is that you do, if you’re going to make the effort to share it online, it presumes you expect people to see it. Otherwise, you’re not sharing. You’re archiving.

When I write, I want people to read what I write. That’s part of the transaction that is the written word. Somebody writes it. Another reads it.

I work hard at writing in “my” voice. Mine. Where you get a sense of how I think and feel. That there’s a real, living and breathing human being behind the ideas. My words are my voice. Or my voice is in my words. That’s the goal.

Because online, my voice is one voice. In an immense cacophony of voices. Billions of them.

How do I get heard?

This is why I work at writing well. And create a “look” for my online presence. It’s why I share my posts through multiple channels. I polish the turd. Because I want people to see my words. I want people to hear my voice.

And most people stop here. Create. Post content. Distribute. Rinse. Repeat.

This doesn’t let me off the hook though, does it? I’m still that polished turd, blowing in the internet breezes.

But how do I get heard when what I’m doing is adding to the noise? Why go through the effort to be heard? Why does that matter?

Ryan said it. People want, they crave connection. Human to human. To feel real. Alive. Part of something.

People want to see and be seen. To hear and be heard. That’s what I want. And I know I’m not alone in this.

I go through the effort for this connection. But at what level?

Real Is What Echoes

I’m not looking to connect with millions of people. I don’t have the capacity. I’d be content with building a small, active community of people who love connection.

I don’t need them to share my same interests. I’m ok if our values differ. I am open to lively discussions.

I am looking for people with whom to interact. Connect.

To sit at the table, real or virtual, and engage. That’s the underlying drive. That’s why I’m willing to shout into the wall of noise.

But how will people know that I am real? That what I post isn’t some AI slop? Sure, it’s nice to talk about connection and human and all that. If it’s harder and harder to tell the difference between real and fake, how can people see and hear me from behind the shiny crap capsule? (I got tired of typing turd)

Because out of that noise, Ryan’s voice cut through. I heard him.

How? He posted. He put his voice out there. Branded? Maybe. Curated? Dunno. But it was honest and raw and…him.

What he gave me sounded like something I might hear over coffee, talking about the internet and community and connection and bullshit and communication and risk and relationships and life.

What he said echoed in me because I recognized what it said was real. That it echoed from the human being that wrote those words.

Risky. And hopeful. And courageous.

Because if we’re going to put ourselves out there, we’re up against all the polish and expertise and whatever else is out there. And it might take time for the right people to find you.

This isn’t about crying out just for the sake of making the noise. We cry out, raise our voice, so that the right people can find us. To join us at our table and engage.

Who are these right people? The people who hear your voice and come looking for you.

When they find you, when they sit down at your table, will they see you? Or a curated avatar of who you think people might want to see?

Would you want to sit at your table?