Want To Try A Substack Experiment, Maybe Make A Splash Together?
We are almost 5000 strong, maybe we can make a tiny splash in a big ocean.
Y’all, can we talk? Here’s what dawned on me this morning. And yesterday morning. And the morning before, and before, and before if you get the picture. I kind of love Substack Notes. But sometimes? I also kind of hate them.
Because… Trump sucks you got what you deserved, how to fix your life, how to get more followers, wow isn’t that gunman hot, corporate greed, bootstrap motivation, how to get more followers, republicans suck, selfie, men suck, what did you think tariff meant, another selfie, more motivation, more political rants, patriarchy sucks, more selfies, omg white women wtf, how to get more followers, why are women so needy, how to get more followers, more quotes, more selfies, plus the when I was 5/18/25/ memes…
Then I think—maybe not today. Back out of the room real quiet. And I get it. This is what it is to be human. I’m not criticizing. I promise. It’s just. Wow, we are so tiring in a non-stop flood, aren’t we?
Sometimes it feels like Twitter back in the days before Elon Musk took over and told staff to sleep on the floor and work for free and named it X because he has a thing for the letter X like he’s the count on Sesame Street and if you’re rich, people tolerate your idiosyncrasies and call you a genius not a whack-job, which you get called if you act weird but don’t have money to back it up. I didn’t like it then, either. Sigh.
The other day I dreamed of a woman I knew. No. I actually dreamed the umbrella. I couldn’t see her, just the crowd around her. But let me back up, make some sense.
She was a writer I used to read. One day she posted and said hey, if y’all are in the same city as me, come meet me in the park, okay? I’ll be carrying an umbrella. She said the color, but I forget. Anyway, she had someone come along, make a video.
The video starts with a woman carrying an umbrella. Holding it high above her head. Walking up a hill. She gets to the top and just stands there. Holding this umbrella up really high. Arm stretched like a little kid who knows the answer in third grade. In the middle of a park. And then slowly, I watch as people show up.
One person, then five, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred. Then there’s a giant crowd of people, I don’t know how many, just this giant crowd I can’t count anymore and in the middle of it, an umbrella floating high above the crowd. And I can hear her crying.
And then I woke up. And all I could remember was that umbrella floating above the crowd. The sound of her crying with joy. And I remember that she died. Cancer.
It unsettles me. Don’t even go to my computer. Pull on a thick warm sweater cause I can’t with a parka. Wrap a wool blanket around myself, pour a cup of coffee and go sit outside on the back step. Because sometimes there’s nothing like sitting outside in the dark of morning before the sun comes up to get your head straight.
I don’t know why I can’t remember anything. It was years and years ago. But still. Don’t remember her name. Or the city. It was a big city. That’s why so many people came. But what city? New York? LA? No idea. Don’t remember the color of the umbrella she said she’d be carrying. Red, yellow, green? I can’t remember.
Here’s what hits me sitting outside freezing my butt off. Because what kind of idiot sits outside in a Canadian winter? Me, apparently. Anyway, what hits me is how damn ephemeral it all is. You, me, all of us.
I could get hit by a truck and who the hell would miss me, when we all follow five hundred people? How long would it be before someone says, hey you know, I haven’t heard from that Linda in Canada for a long time. And then you move along, read the next person. Because the feed just never damn stops. And here’s us. Yelling into the noise just hoping someone listens once in a while.
And then I cried. Sitting out on the back step. Because I admired her. And because I just wanted to remember her name but I couldn’t. Been thinking about her for days. Can’t seem to get that dream out of my head.
So here’s what I’m doing about it.
Next week, I’m going to be on Notes like peanut butter on toast. Twice a day. Morning and evening. But I’m not posting a damn thing about myself. No motivations. No quotes. No brain farts. No thoughts to share. Nope.
Here’s what I’m doing instead.
I’m going to take a little time on the weekend and pick ten people who are doing something I admire on Substack. Make a list.
Then Monday to Friday I am posting introductions and kudos. Hey, this is Robert. Or Sue. He (or she) writes about (whatever). Here’s a post I really like that he (or she) wrote. Thanks for what you’re doing here, Bob. Or Sue.
Twice a day. Morning and night.
Hell, maybe I’ll get ambitious and pick twenty people. Post two in the morning, two in the evening. I don’t know for sure. Ten minimum. Two a day. I can do two a day.
On Friday the thirteenth I’ll post what happened. Because something will. Anytime we do anything with determination and intention, something always happens.
And I hope you’ll join me. Do the same. Pick ten or twenty people who are doing something you admire. Share them on notes next week. Morning and evening.
We are almost five thousand strong. And in the whole scheme of things, it’s not a lot.
But here’s what I know. 1200 people will read this message this morning. More will read it on Saturday. The rest will trickle in slow. Because the feeds are full, the inboxes are full. We’re all trying to “support” so many people we aren’t supporting anyone, really. Not if we don’t get around to them in the inbox or feed.
But I can interrupt that cycle. On purpose.
And if a 100 or 200 people join me, that’s hundreds of notes that aren’t screaming into the void. Hundreds of notes that say hey, thanks for what you do. I like it.
Instead of look at me.
Maybe we can make a little splash in a very big ocean.
I think the lady with the umbrella would approve. I hope she’s up there smiling down, saying hey kid, it’s okay you don’t remember my name. You remember my spirit.
Hope you’ll join me.
If you like my writing, I also write on Medium
I can try to do that- but narrowing down the list of people I admire here will be tough...
Love thus idea. I'm in. Trump does suck though :)