Anyone thinking that moving to BlueSky or Threads will end up any different than the downfall of Twitter is dead wrong.
Remember, the fellow who started Twitter and sold it to the highest bidder also started BlueSky. And, the folks who run Threads also run the most detrimental-to-your-health platform in the history of the internet.
History repeats itself because we're collectively stupid and allow it to repeat.
There’s so much richness in Mandy Brown’s piece on writing, work, context, and creating a space for oneself.
Brown focuses on the shift from using social platforms for publishing—rigid systems that haven't evolved with users' needs—to building spaces where intentional connections between ideas can form and grow over time. Instead of being focused on content ownership, she’s more interested in context, in placing her thinking "within [their] own body of work."
One of the things that struck me most was Brown’s intention to shape her reading, writing, and other online efforts around a single topic—books:
"I made a decision many years ago to shape my work around the books I read. … It’s allowed me to cultivate the soil to suit my purposes—rather than having to adapt my garden to the soil I was given. Not every seed I’ve planted has thrived, of course. But after all these years, some are quite hardy, while others have made some very rich compost. And I find myself often amazed by what emerges: not only the seeds I planted but a great many I never anticipated, connections and stories I didn’t see until I was right on top of them, until they were tangled at my feet."
That kind of foresight and deliberate action to sustain a process over time is something I envy. I've had many ideas on how to focus my creative energy online, but I haven’t stuck with any one thing long enough to turn it into a lasting practice.1 Maybe Brown's words are a push in that direction. 🤷♂️
Another key point is Brown’s reflection on labour and the role of friction in meaningful work:
"And more often than not, I find that what I need is some friction, some labor, the effort to work things out. Efficiency is an anti-goal; it is at odds with the work, which requires resistance and tension in order to come into being."
As much as I value efficiency, I find I’m most efficient with the work I care about least. I try to streamline tasks I don't enjoy so I can make space for things I want to labour over. With work I’m passionate about, the time and mental effort I invest in thinking and creating is often what I enjoy most—the process is more fulfilling than the result.
On the subject of AI doing work for us, Brown adds:
"But no one arguing for this seems to have asked what’s left when the work is gone. What is the experience of asking for something to appear and then instantly receiving it? What changes between the thought and the manifestation? I fear that nothing changes, that nothing is changed in such a making, least of all ourselves."
What happens when the work is gone? Does more work appear, or do we fill that time with things worth labouring over? I see the value in AI taking care of less meaningful tasks—as long as we use that time for what really matters.
Lastly, Brown touches on the nostalgia many of us, myself included, feel for an earlier time in the social media landscape. For me, that’s Twitter circa 2007:
"…a great number of my closest friends are people I met in the halcyon days of Twitter, and I find I still often long for that kind of connection, the ambient awareness of people in whose company I felt at home. But I know that longing to be a kind of nostalgia, an unrealizable wish to return to a past that never was quite as I remember it."
I've been longing for a return to some version of the past I remember for some time. I’ve even gone as far as drafting a manifesto to revive something from that era, hoping to reconnect with people from my past. But maybe nostalgia is holding me back from letting something new emerge.
Ultimately, coming home isn’t about a place for content at all. It’s about finding what home is in the first place—labouring through a process that builds the context and connections to carry us forward.
This might be an unfair critique of my own dedication. I’ve stuck with many things in life, including creatively. Even now, I write mini-reviews of every book I read—short reflections that help me go back in time to remember what I was thinking and processing. Though brief, these reviews are a constant in my life.
Mandy Brown writes about the intersection of writing, work, and finding one's place, focusing on the shift from using social platforms for publishing—systems that are often rigid and outdated—to creating spaces that foster deeper, evolving connections between ideas. Instead of fixating on content ownership, Brown emphasizes context—the importance of situating one’s thinking "within [their] own body of work," allowing for more intentional and long-term growth.
More than 13 years ago, I left Facebook behind.
I won't say I haven’t occasionally considered returning or created profiles only to delete them immediately, but for the most part, I’ve been— and still am— happy with my decision to leave.
Platforms like Facebook are invasive; they steal time and energy without earning it, and they benefit from who I am more than I benefit from the value they claim to provide.
The past 13 years without Facebook have been mostly joyful. Although I'm often the last to hear about a social update or find out about weekend events after they’ve passed, the freedom to control my own time far outweighs the minor inconvenience of missing out on information that, in truth, I’m not terribly upset to miss.
However, recently, it’s become more difficult to find basic information from businesses and service providers, as they increasingly post only on their Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter accounts— many of which are closed to those without an account. Trying to get service updates, contact information, or keep up with details that used to arrive via email newsletters has become harder with each passing month.
So here I am, 13 years later, with a Facebook account again.
It’s not that I thought this day would never come— but I really thought it would never come.
With the sole purpose of gathering information and the occasional Marketplace post to expand my Kijiji listings, my goal is to keep my profile as locked down as possible and use it sparingly.
I hate that it’s come to this, but I feel like I’ve been left with no choice. Unless businesses and service providers stop building their presence inside these walled gardens, I’m left with little option but to join them.
The time has come for me to say goodbye.
I’ve been using Facebook since the first time I was in university, signing up with the hope that it would help me build real connections. Over the years, I clung to that hope, but unfortunately, Facebook never created the meaningful relationships I was searching for.
I've realized that Facebook adds no real value to my life. I've experimented with it in various ways, hoping it could offer something unique, but time and again, it has led me down endless rabbit holes. The effort, energy, and time I’ve invested just aren’t worth the little I’ve gotten in return.
Maybe I’ve missed the point, or maybe I just value different things. For me, the in-person connections and time spent with people mean far more than any virtual interaction. I find more fulfillment in real-life conversations, handshakes, printed photos, and shared stories than in a digital network where I’m constantly marketed to, and “friends” are made with little effort or sincerity.
But please, don’t misunderstand me—Facebook offers no value to me, but my Friends (the real ones, not the “friends”) mean the world to me. The people who truly matter—those I meet in person, share laughs with, and help out—cannot be replaced or replicated by Facebook. While Facebook might facilitate some connections, I believe it ultimately does more harm than good to the relationships I hold dear.
In the past, I’ve said I was leaving Facebook but never followed through. This time is different. After a lot of self-reflection, I’ve come to understand what truly contributes to my happiness and quality of life. Facebook doesn’t make the cut—in fact, it detracts from it.
So, it’s with little regret that I’m choosing to leave Facebook. I’m optimistic about the future and excited for what it holds, without the need for Facebook or its version of “friends.”
To those I regularly communicate with on Facebook—through chat, wall posts, or other means—I want to say this:
To my sister, who finds Facebook messaging convenient: my phone is always on. To Amy, whom I didn’t get to know well enough when we lived closer: I’ll keep sending snail mail. To Niki, who I’ve struggled to stay in touch with: our dogs will play together in real life one day, not just virtually.
And to my true Friends and family, I have a phone that’s ready to ring, a front door that’s always open, a cold beer to share, and a picnic blanket big enough for more than one.
As for my “friends”—I wish you all the best. I’m sure that once I’m gone, I’ll be replaced with five other “friends” in no time at all.
Cheers, Kevin
P.S. I’ll be leaving my account active until the end of the year (2011) for anyone (aka Friends) who wants to exchange phone numbers or mailing addresses.