Curating Private Lives

Boundless. Limitless. A strange world. Each of us tethered to a hub, a central spot, perhaps by wires. Each of us with the capacity to touch any other with the push of a button. When I press this button, a few thousand of you will read this, my March 2021 missive. And some of you will press your own buttons, forward this message to a friend or neighbor or colleague or some other person in your own social network.

This boundless, limitless connection has worked out in some wonky ways over the past few years. For instance: The rise of the influencers, social media entrepreneurs who share 4x4 photos of their wardrobes, their duck lips, their fake foie gras, their very curated lives. For instance: The twitterati who spend hours sharing their very enlightened opinions about the ENORMOUS issue du jour (generally related to sex, politics, or the meandering ways of those once considered decent). For Instance: Me and my keyboard, typing missives to people I’d love to meet but probably never will (yes, that’s you).

Do all these thousands of button pushings—clicks, sends, whatever—meet some basic human need? Yes, I think. Each of us wants to be seen, heard, and known. Each of us wants to be loved, even if conditionally. Each of us wants to be influential, wants to leave a mark or a legacy or some derivative synonym of those words. I am no different, and these new tools of boundlessness—social media, newsletters, starter publishing platforms—give each of us the ability to do meet these needs in some small, perhaps superficial way.

I’m tiring of it.

Don’t read too much into that statement. Tiring does not mean I’m disappearing or quitting or giving up the ghost. I’m doing none of those things. But I am becoming more selective in the ways I press my buttons. Just as I don’t need to know every thought swimming in your brain, every piece of fattened goose liver you ingest, every perfectly sunlit portrait-worthy moment, you do not need to know mine. We all need our own private spaces to work out what it means to be humans being. We need private spaces to taste, touch, breathe, muse, meander, love, hate, think, critique, fumble, adore, explore. More than anything, we the space to cultivate deeper influencers, and by that, I do not mean Social Media Influencers™, I mean the true influencers of life—flesh and bone, field and flower, wind and Spirit.

This is not your average newsletter. This is a confession and an invitation. The confession: I’m tiring of all of the noise, of always having to contribute to the noise. The invitation: Come to flesh and bone, field and flower, wind and Spirit, and find rest.

A Podcast Update

Tsh Oxenreider and I have been curating conversations for our collaborative podcast, A Drink with a Friend. Last week, we discussed the importance of creating, and not to build a platform or an audience or whatever. We discussed creating something beautiful for the sake of beauty itself. I hope you’ll take a listen.

A Small Request

Many ask, “What’s the best way to support your writing?” The answer is easier than you might think. Grab a copy of Coming Clean: A Story of Faith or The Book of Waking Up: Experiencing the Divine Love that Reorders a Life. Consider grabbing a copy for a friend while you’re at it.

(For bonus points, subscribe to my Premium Substack, and read my serial novel Bears in the Yard.)

Thanks For reading along. I’m grateful for each of you.

Seth