My thoughts on intentionality and the internet is a tangent of all the processing I’ve been doing since I went to the Betakit Town Hall a few days ago. My general sentiment after leaving the event was a neutral-positive, I was mostly curious about the types of people who would attend, and also maybe seeing some familiar faces since I’ve holed myself up in my home office as a fractional designer (more thoughts on this, eventually). Unsurprisingly, all of Toronto Tech Entrepreneur Twitter was there, and I only knew this because my Twitter Feed was raving about the Town Hall — all the familiar names that I know are the loudest about this tech renaissance were there and I had no idea bc all of these faces hide behind avatars. It was a unanimously high positive experience for everyone on Toronto Tech Twitter. As an outside perspective, I couldn’t relate to any of these people. There was something that felt off about it for me, like I couldn’t see whatever it was they were seeing. It was a distant second-hand excitement. If that.
I’ve been trying to process this off-feeling for the last few days. By extension, I’m part of this Toronto Tech community, largely because that’s the essence of my career: I know what it’s like to build, I know how to speak the language, I know what brings joy, I know what connection feels like. And yet, I feel alienated, like I don’t belong because tech bro rallying cries are like nails to a chalkboard for me, and there’s something outside of my career and tech that brings me joy and connection. The conflict, which returns to the core of this brain dump is: although I feel this way about Tech Twitter, I feel this desire to find people like me in this community and connect with them in my own way. And how do I connect with these people if I don’t join the noise and amplify myself?
Do things tell people.
I think about the many personas I’ve taken on, IRL and URL. I think about how Instagram makes it easy to compartmentalize and amplify fragmented identities online so we can cater to specific audiences. I think about how easy it is to just talk about plant stuff on my plant instagram or build a niche audience for my keycaps. And I think about how hard it is to connect with new friends when my main instagram is strictly art and shitposting. That’s Instagram alone. Who am I on Linkedin? Who am I on Twitter? Who am I when I’m in the Recess studio? When I’m getting groceries? These are spaces where privacy has an asterisk — I navigate these spaces with vulnerably and discretion because being too vulnerable might be harmful too.
I think about how I’m thinking too much about this.
In moments where I think too deeply about a thing that I’m observing from far away, I have to remind myself that everything I need is already within reach. As the discourse continues, I am reminded that I do have friends that share my sentiments, and are grounded in similar values to be immune to this koolaid that makes me feel this ick. I’m reminded that I have mentors who use their knowledge and platforms to speak on more important issues than conflate our self-importance as leaders of a renaissance. I’m reminded that I have friends outside of my bubble that remove me from my career.