I Got My Defining Question Wrong In The Search For My People
How tussling with my assumptions quieted the noise in my head. And gave me a better question.
Meesh Magowa!
Am I missing something?
Scrolling my feed on Substack left me feeling a little scummy. The algorithm showed me “how to grow your Substack”, “use notes to grow your Substack”, make money, grow business. Note after note promised the audience I deserved.
The audience I deserved.
Of course I think I deserve an engaged, grateful, generous, practically perfect audience of readers who agree with delight everything I pour out. That was the implication anyway.
My toddler-brained, too-grumpy-for-a-job and too-young-and-poor-to-retire self disagreed. The audience I deserved didn’t jump out at me.
The focus in my feed is on growing subscribers on Substack. And the many variations of that.
There are writers making claims of “5,000 subscribers in 30 days!” How come they never write about “I gained 142 subscribers in 3 months.” Or “How I Gained 13 Subscribers In 4 Weeks!”
Some contrarians tell us we’re posting the wrong articles, too many notes, or not enough notes. Don’t, shouldn’t, you’re doing it wrong. Mmmmm…yeah.
Some bash Substack because we (fill in your Substacky sin) and how horrible it is. Try my method. As if insults are a strategy to win friends and influence people.
The feed promises to help me “get found” by people trying to get found. A growth game that selects an audience playing the same game. It feels like an Ouroboros, eating its own tail.
The effect is an echo chamber. The noise is compounding and I am susceptible to its effects. But where is this unease coming from? Am I the problem?
This isn’t a platform problem.
Substack is doing what it does. The algorithm is trying to give me what it thinks I want. My category choices make up a part of that. So do my interactions. Substack notes what I click on and read.
I read an article on growing old with grace and next thing I know, my feed has a stream of mature writers. (some excellent people btw) Notes, replies, and comments all train the algorithm as well. My feed is what I tell it to be.
This isn’t a people problem.
The people I find here — the writers — are fantastic. You’re thoughtful, intelligent, engaged thinkers and poets and minstrels. You boldly proclaim truth. You challenge our assumptions. You look at things from all sides, including the underside and the inside. And inside the underside where few dare to look.
You fill me with energy and life and aspiration. You inspire me and help me in ways I can’t explain.
Yes, some exasperate me. And annoy. Some fumble about in the dark, much like myself. And for all the awkward muddling, I enjoy meeting and interacting with the people here on Substack.
The noise of my feed isn’t the problem. Not in itself. It reminds me of an experience I had earlier this year at my church.
I sat in our church lobby, sipping my breve latte. The lobby chittered with conversation, laughter, and the buzz you get when a hundred or so people gather in one place.
I could see the volunteers serving in their different areas. I know because I volunteer for different teams. It’s part of finding a spot in the culture of a place. Here, we get in, volunteer, get involved with home groups, maybe serve on the welcome team, or help in the babies’ room. We participate. And everywhere, the room vibrates with participation. People showing up and doing church.
I have many friends here. And I enjoy spending time with them at church and outside of church. Heck, most of our time together is during the week, away from services. Our time together is vital, fun, sometimes messy and frustrating, but most often life-giving. I love it here.
But sitting there that early spring morning, I thought about people outside the walls. Would they enjoy being here? Would they find “their people?” Not to be friends with everyone, but with those people that fill them with life?
How could they know? The people outside the walls?
In the same way, the people I want to reach, to talk with and build relationships with are outside the walls of Substack.
I am here to serve “my people.” But they’re not here. I don’t see them. Maybe.
But this isn’t even my issue with Substack and its feed. The deeper problem is this: for “whom” am I doing this? “My people” seems the obvious answer.
But I’m still unsure of who “my people” are.
I have an idea, or seventy-three. They’re out there. Maybe on Substack. But on other platforms as well. And in my analog life too, where you spill real coffee on real shirts.
I know the kinds of people I like.
They’re inquisitive and ask hard questions. They walk around to the back of a statue. Because they can.
They turn and look at the groom when the bride starts down the aisle.
They laugh at dumb puns. And celebrate your dumbest ideas with “Anything is possible.”
They challenge, push back and wrestle with ideas. They growl at propaganda and sit in silent wonder at something new or old, and profound.
I know the writers on Substack are people. Which means they’re readers too. I’m stating the obvious, but this wasn’t obvious to me. I figured it out writing this essay. And it’s probable that those for whom I am looking are right here (or write here - couldn’t help myself).
So whether “my people” are on Substack and elsewhere, finding them is a challenge. Or maybe this malaise is me worrying about those things I cannot control.
And adding to this lack of knowing my people is knowing this: “my people,” they need me.
I know, that sounds prideful and arrogant and…ugh! “They need me” sounds like the delusion spoken by a has-been actor. It feels cringy. I’m almost too embarrassed to write it. But how else can I say it?
Yes. They need my experience, my perspective, my ideas. Why? I DON’T KNOW. And that scares the hell out of me. Or excites me. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell the difference.
I’ve seen stuff. Made mistakes. So many mistakes. I’ve also accomplished things, great and small. Not world-changing great, but, maybe, life-growing great for someone. Perhaps what I bring will add to their life in a small but important way.
They need me to be who I am. And find them. Or…help them find me. Or both.
Yes, I keep working at this. Writing. Thinking. Questioning. Wrestling. And finding ways to connect what I write with as many people as I can.
What does that look like? How do I make that happen?
Maybe the better question is this:
Are you my people?
The part I was almost too embarrassed to write: The people I’m looking for need what I bring. I don’t know why. And this probability, it scares the hell out of me. It also excites me. It’s hard to tell the difference.
Originally published on Full Voice Read it there