Oversaturation

Living Love in a Digital World

Ten feet deep and half a mile of water after a recent rain.

I grew up and spent much of my adult life in the Southwestern United States, so I had a desert dweller’s view of rain. Mostly, there was precious little. Every so often, there was way too much, meaning the New Mexico arroyos — or in Los Angeles, the concrete channel called the “river” — flooded crazily until they ran dry again.

I had this famine-or-flood view of rain until I took a road trip to Texas one summer to buy a horse. It rained the whole time, so I had to ride inside barns, because it was too wet outside. On the fourth day, the ground became too saturated, and water began pooling up everywhere. By the fifth day, trees began keeling over.

As a desert dweller, I couldn’t comprehend the concept of the ground not being able to either repel or retain however much rainwater fell. That may seem silly, but I don’t think I’m alone in this.

A few years ago, here in Western North Carolina, heavy rain fell for days before Hurricane Helene hit. Twenty-four hours before the storm, rivers and roads were already flooded. Still, none of us were prepared for the devastating damage that the hurricane brought when rivers rose 15 feet, and trees came down by the thousands once the winds hit. To a person, we couldn’t comprehend the sheer amount of water and the fact that there was no place for it to go but up.

This is how I feel about social media these days. I just cannot comprehend how much there is. As our virtual landscape becomes so oversaturated, my whole idea of writing, reading, watching, and interacting with others has begun to change.

Four Months on Substack

I’m new to Substack, having written my own blog and then posted on Medium for a decade. I arrived last fall, during the shift from a platform that felt mostly for writers to yet another social media feed. I was unprepared for Notes, and found myself irritated. But I kept writing because I was enjoying the interactions with readers.

I still do, but if I’m honest, it is Substack’s Notes that has begun toppling my trees.

Every so often, I enjoy something I see on social media. But mostly, I care less and less — and not caring is never good. I use social media more like a search engine now. If I want to know what a person or brand is doing, I search them instead of getting sucked into yet another endless, mind-numbing scroll.

I’m at peace with this change. But there are other perspective shifts that are harder. The most difficult is how I am beginning to feel about writing.

Each week, when I get quiet and listen to what needs to come through in this post/blog, I feel increasing resistance, followed by apathy.

“Who cares?” I find myself thinking. And by that, I don’t mean that I’m worrying whether other people do or don’t care. It’s that I don’t care. And that has made me question why I write in the first place.

Writing has always helped me make sense of the world, know my own thoughts, feel connected and hopeful, focus on what matters, or figure out where I need to up my game. I began blogging because it held me accountable to both my spiritual practice and my desire to become a better writer. That accountability connected me with wonderful people on similar journeys.

That’s all still true.

It’s the where and how that feel different in this oversaturated landscape. Unlike rain, which eventually stops, social media keeps raining more and more memes, reels, and now AI-generated pics and videos. So much content that it’s hard to know how to feel about anything.

I don’t know where that leaves us as a world. Equally, I don’t know where that leaves me as a writer.

Loquacious

A photo my dad included of me in his children’s biography

My mother loved unusual words. One of the ones she used most in relation to me was loquacious, which means tending to talk a great deal.

Now, the thing is, I can go to a party and not say a word. Not one word. In fact, you’ll usually find me serving the food, cutting the cake, or washing the dishes. But put me on the phone with someone I love, give me a blog to write, and I won’t shut up.

I guess I’m not good at short-form communication.

I walk the way I talk. At least three times a day, I close the door behind me with no idea where I’m heading. I just let my walks lead me where they need so I can hear what needs to come through. I come home feeling clearer and more joyful.

Until recently, I always felt that way when I wrote a blog — and when I pressed publish, I hoped the clarity that came through me would bring clarity to others. I am grateful when someone comments that this has happened. Because isn’t that the whole point of writing — sharing ideas with others?

I thought it was. But now, I’m beginning to wonder whether writing should be a little more like my walks, where I run into people and say hello, maybe catch up briefly as we chat about our dogs, the weather, or a beautiful flower. We rarely share our deepest thoughts, and yet, we go our separate ways feeling the joy of a short, shared, actual, real connection. Something I rarely feel from a screen.

What is the endgame of a world where we’re all constantly sharing our opinions and ideas, hopes and fears, minutiae, and overarching beliefs — on screens?

I don’t want to stop writing, but I also don’t want to keep caring less and flooding the world with more words, words, words.

Fortunately, I believe in the power of

Practice

Will digital writing eventually go the way of my once-favorite fountain pen?

At the end of the day, there is only one overarching practice that means anything. It is the daily, deliberate, conscious, committed practice of living Love. Since writing has always been part of living Love for me, I guess I need to figure out what that means now in our oversaturated world. Does it mean practicing a different form of writing — one that is more of an exchange or shorter or simpler or or or? I don’t know.

But there’s one thing I do know — “I don’t know” always leads us where we need to go. Because when we reach the point of not knowing — the place where everything in which we’ve placed so much stock no longer serves us — we have to learn to listen for our next steps. That’s the place where change begins, and that’s always good.

That’s where I am right now.

All this to say, I’ll be trying some new things with this blog. What will that look like? No idea. Silence. Short form? Invited exchanges? We’ll see. I hope you’ll be patient with me.

Are you also feeling oversaturated? Has that changed your interaction with reading, writing, social media, and actual people? I’d love to know.

Irony

I’m going to leave you with a lovely bit of irony.

Every Saturday, I post on social media for one of my clients. While I was doing that, this popped onto my feed. It was exactly what I needed to hear. Brave, hopeful, honest, real, and profound.

Maybe it will be what you need to hear, too.

If this isn’t living Love, I don’t know what is. . .