First of all, I'd like to thank Danielle LaPorte for a refreshing & transparent peek into that gorgeous heart of hers. Yesterday she offered some radically-real food for thought on visibility, inspiring this post.
For years now, I've had mixed feelings about stepping into the online spotlight and "making a name" for myself in the virtual world. Recently, I've come to terms with the fact that my ambitions are far more understated than I once thought; my bliss much more simply had. For example, an ill-fitting notion I once allowed to drive me (incessant actioning fueled by the belief that success as a writer/coach equates with becoming an online persona) has become largely counterproductive to my overall well-being. Not mention it's inherently at odds with my bohemian sensibilities. As such, I regularly disregard online entrepreneurial conventions - ie: weekly blogs and editorial calendars make me wanna hurl. Why box myself into promises today that I'll resent tomorrow?
So more and more I'm allowing the soothing hum of my lusciously free-spirit to drown out the deafening roar of ambition (a steam engine train that once ensured my survival). I'm allowing for more S P A C E to live a life that offers reverence to my glorious inconsistencies and the more natural rhythms of my humanity.
I write/work/create best when I do so with organic integrity. Perhaps I'll set fire to my bus(y)ness plan and divorce the maniacal should-storm of productivity that is supposedly the precursor to visibility and abundance. I'll exchange vows with what feels congruent in the ever-orbiting constellations of now. And why in the hell not? The past two years have shown me that generating emotional wealth yields far greater returns than my workaholic tendencies ever did.
And yet, truth be told, I've gotta break out of an addictive pattern and consciously turn my attention away from the social media rat race that stares me down on a daily basis. I must stop scrolling; seek impact through immediate encounters versus "likes" on a feed. Witnessing a client come alive, editing pages for my book, laughing with friends, tending to my home... all of these carry a depth and magnitude of connection that a "share" button could never replicate.
No, I'm not trash-talking social media, and I won't be leaving Facebook anytime soon. I'd just like to create a healthier relationship to it. I'm challenging my own belief that popularity (aka: visibility) is a precursor to paying the bills. I don't wanna go back to high school sensibilities and continually clamor for your attention via the latest business trend. I'd rather just do me and hope for the best.
Now don't get me wrong, there are many people I admire out there, lighting up my feed with inspiration and awesome goodness galore. And I sincerely admire the courage it takes to be noticed in a world where visibility all-too-often equates with celebrity status and the continual onslaught of projection contained therein. Hats off to those (such as Danielle) who navigate their success with grace and integrity.
Yet I also applaud the courage it takes to show up for the innumerable uncelebrated and invisible glories that life has to offer. Those that can't be contained in a scrolling newsfeed: nurturing a loved one, speaking a difficult truth, laughter with friends, gazing into the eyes of an animal, or taking in the humble majesty a forest.
Facebook can be functional; it's a voyeuristic playground of connection that (at its best) allows for a more expansive expression of self. Yet it's no true metric of success or connection in real time.
When the reach for visibility trumps everyday pleasures.
When scrolling becomes an addictive pastime.
When approval is largely linked to the click of a cursor.
When we mistake a series of comments for a conversation.
When we no longer dig in the dirt, dabble, read, or knit....
It is then that social media no longer serves us and it becomes a distraction from the impact we are designed to have in real life.
Your attention is a privilege, not a commodity.
Like it or not. I'm simply grateful if you made it this far.
Thanks for reading.