If an article has already 200 or more green hearts I will purposely avoid it.
The less likes an article on medium has , the more likely I am to read it.
I do have some favs that I read regardless.
( if you are looking for a good time Alexainie , Joe Boughner , The Bosha , Lon Shapiro , Demetra Demi Gregorakis , Thom Garrett there are so many I can’t tag them all. Yes some of them have large readerships but they’ve managed the seeming impossible on the internet nowadays. Honesty.
Everyone is so ambitious on medium.
While reading your article I started to wonder if something was wrong with me. I see this everywhere.
How to be noticed , how to get a following , how to be the best.
Sometimes I wonder , is that the normal human thing to do?
I wonder that a lot throughout the day. I am constantly looking at other people wondering , studying , trying to decide if that’s the baseline behavior to compare myself to.
Most times it is.
It’s a rude fucking awareness that at least one of these kids is doing his own thing.
I am sort of cursed with that. Not being a normal human.
The upside is a lot of times I look around and think, that has to be miserable. It has to be miserable to be so consumed with that. Or driven by that. Or concerned with that.
I didn’t know I was a writer before I came to medium. Oh sure everyone else did. Journals are a constant gift. I am always told I am a writer.
I like to write.
But when I came to medium I realized I have to write. ( that doesn’t mean I’m good. Im really not . But that’s also the beauty of writing we all forget about. You don’t have to be good. It’s like painting. You don’t paint for money. You paint for joy. You paint for release. You paint alone. You don’t have to be good. Being good at painting is the last thing that should drive someone to paint. ) I used to abuse Facebook and no one really understood why I loved Facebook so much. I never got into Twitter. Snap chat. Or anything else on line. But with Facebook I could express myself. When I found medium , I left FB permanently, it no longer worked for me.
I found a better way to express myself. To write. That’s always been it , the driving force for me. I need to write down who I am. What I feel. What I think.
Other people are totally inconsequential. If anything I have a dull hum in the back of my head that tells me that my children will be able to read my medium one day. That means more to me than anything else.
You know, we are taught that selfishness is bad from the time we are little and indeed it is. But this obsessive focus on other people noticing us is inherently selfish…it’s a strange twist on the old adage. How we’ve manipulated ourselves into a wicked vice.
I really believe that if people could just get in touch with who they were… but that’s so hard when you’re constantly checking your reflection, comparing, and adjusting for the audiences sake. We lose ourselves. Our authentic voice. We become people pleasers ; the biggest liars of all.
To be authentic is the scarlet red. It’s what you wave in front of the crowds to get them huffing and puffing. To get them hungry. To get them mean. To get them to fuck each other.
Even medium has become the rich mans parlor. Kisses on the cheek. Tiny clink of crystal glasses and fancy shoes with stale talk of fashionable topics. Polite society. An orgy of who’s who.
I don’t want to participate, I don’t want to fan the flames of vapid self interest.
I do want to connect on a level that is unusual . I am lazy. I want to bypass the pleasantries and get right down to what you dream about at night.
Find your truth. Write it.
Fear is the only monster lurking in the dark. It’s the knife in your chest that’s already killed you. It’s the big bad man you need to run from.
Be anything. Feel anything. Do anything.
But don’t be afraid. Do not fear.