I've noticed a shift happening in how we communicate. All of us. I don't fully know what that means yet, but here's what I see.
Today while grabbing lunch at a cafe I like, I situated myself at a table along the wall of windows and pulled out my laptop. With the recent holiday and general uptick in marketing emails around this time of year, I've been a bit behind on my preferred practice of maintaining inbox zero.
There's a writer I like for her contrarian commentary on literature—new and old. Her name's Linda Caroll. For all the "how to grow an audience online" sludge that circulates the digisphere, the only hack Linda peddles is humanness.
I originally found her on Substack, but—like I do with all of my newsletter subscriptions—I only interact with her work from my email inbox. Lucky for me, my backlog meant I got to read a few of Linda's most recent pieces today while I ate.
What I really like about reading things from Linda is that she regularly references literary icons to contrast the modern group-think scattered across social media. It's like a little history lesson, disguised as a pep talk, tucked within a coffee chat between friends. I walk away with a new perspective every time. For that, I'm grateful.
But here's the thing...
I like to think. I want something to chew on; and that's largely how it was with the prolific writers of yore. Linda recently wrote about Bukowski, and it got me thinking: a lot of the classic wisdom that gets shared online is written as if the author had been thinking about it to themselves. It's all proclamation, pontification, and musing.
To stand out on social media, I've watched swarms of people try to be prolific. They declare and claim. Convince. The pendulum has swung so far toward presenting expertise, that it landed us here—recovering from a deluge of Black Friday emails with headlines that try to create scarcity and gain authority.
Sitting in that cafe today, I realized the rollercoaster that Linda'd just taken me on. Around me, two young kids had been playing tag and using the rest of us as shields. Their mom looked tired, but when I smiled, she did too. We didn't say a word. As I'd sat back in my chair, smirking, I tried to label the feeling settling into my chest. It'd been nice; comforting even.
When I'd finished reading Linda's words, I glanced at the now-corralled kids and their mom a few tables over. She gave a small nod, and this time I got to return the gesture. Closing my laptop, I'd found the word I'd been looking for...
Acceptance.
Communication that creates acceptance is scarce because messages that claim authority get attention. Like Linda, I choose to believe we can change that.
What style of messaging do you gravitate toward? Have you ever really thought about it?
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