Is it possible to be an individual on the internet?

I'm tired of the content overload.

Five months later, I'm here. Between my 30th birthday, news of a soon-to-be-here niece, a career change, world conflict, human rights crises, economic uncertainty, and an impending messy election, my last priority has been being present online. Yet, Substack has been becoming my favorite social media platform, so I couldn't give up on it just yet. Thank you to those of you who stuck around and those of you who are new here.

National Institutes of Health (American, 1887-)

Let's get this out of the way: I don't know enough about the internet to write an intelligent essay about this. Everything I do know is based on observations and lived experience. 

Lately, and that's a broad "lately," I've found it impossible to pinpoint original ideas. Everyone is writing about iterations of the same thing: how to buy less. How to spend less time online. Are the High Sport pants worth it? No, the High Sport pants are not worth it. Why does the quality of clothing suck lately? How do we form our own opinions when the Algorithm is so pushy? Why are 10-year-olds raiding the Drunk Elephant shelves and 25-year-olds so afraid of turning 30? So much content—so much of the SAME content—and way too little time. 

This could be only my experience in my small corner of the internet. I doubt that's the case, though. It's for this reason I'm wary of returning to this space. Why continue writing only to have my voice overshadowed by everyone chiming in to say the same thing? I'm tired of the sameness. I'm tired of cis-white men and women dominating the sameness—voices who take up so much space in the ether already. I know! Controversial!

But it's boring! And I find this sameness seeping out into reality. Everyone's wearing the same shoes. Everyone's watching the same shows. Everyone's referencing the same jokes. Everyone's listening to the same podcast episode on How to Discover Your Own Taste (ironic). If I sound jaded, it's because I am. 

I don't have an answer to this existential question of how to be an individual online. But I bet the answer is so simple it's laughable. I bet the only antidote is one we've heard a million times. 

National Institutes of Health (American, 1887-)

I'm a therapist. Or, I used to be one. (More on this later.) It was a tough job, but every once in a while, a client would experience a lucid breakthrough. All the pieces of their questioning would come together in a brilliant flash.

None of the answers were online. None of the piecing together happened while scrolling through Instagram. Their path toward individuation occurred offline.

Sure, I still find inspiration online but rarely am I inspired by the posts winning the algorithm. I'm inspired by the people who write like they have nothing to lose. I'm inspired by the people who aren't afraid to stand up for something. I'm inspired by the people who wear what they like and leave it at that. I'm inspired by the people who don't care about being liked. These people, I find, also have firm boundaries between their Real Lives and online ones. Again, it's obvious. But the internet tends to obscure our perception. What was once clear becomes obscured by feelings of inadequacy and fear of missing out.

What I miss most about being a therapist is being privy to other people's points of view. It kept me grounded and reminded me that no two people are alike. So the key must be there, somewhere. Hold on to your point of view—in the way you dress, how you speak, your beliefs about the world. Now that? That can't be replicated.