I love the idea of building my presence. I hate the idea of building my audience.
Among other things, the Internet and the World Wide Web created an opportunity for us to find and connect with people who were previously next to impossible to reach. Simultaneously, it also opened up the possibility to be discovered irrespective of where you lived and under what circumstances. In the early days, the World Wide Web was definitely on track to flatten the world.
Building one's online presence became a precursor to search and discovery. Some embraced this opportunity. Others wanted to, but didn't have the bandwidth or the technical know-how. And many simply didn't care.
Slowly, it got easier. First came the technologists and engineers who created the hardware and software foundation of the web that in principle allowed everyone to build, express, and share with the rest of us. In reality, only the technically proficient — with access to the internet which was prohibitive for most until recently — could do it. Think technologies like email, message boards, messaging, websites, wikis, chat, blogs, modern day networks (social, and professional).
Then came the entrepreneurs who built software products and platforms that made it significantly easier for each of us — regardless of our technical background — to build, express, and share using the technologies that had been in existence for a while. As software platforms matured, we went from building, expressing, and sharing to expressing and sharing, and eventually, to blindly sharing. Think Hotmail, Reddit, Squarespace, Wikipedia, Yahoo/AOL chat, Blogger, Facebook, LinkedIn, Snapchat, Instagram, Tiktok, and so on.
Most of the original internet technologies were built to be asynchronous by design and had a certain passivity to them. But the products and platforms that followed pushed users to be more active, reactive, and synchronous.
Despite being a techie, I have never been an early adopter of technology. For the longest time, I didn't warm up to social networks — I never found their use case compelling enough.
The first social network I joined was Orkut, a popular social network in India. By the time I set up my Orkut account, Facebook was all the rage. In my circles, Orkut was fading, and my peers convinced me to make the switch. The initial months on Facebook were exciting – I found school mates and distant relatives who I had lost touch with. Facebook did deliver on its promise of connecting people. I was getting into the habit of checking Facebook regularly. I would rarely post, but I was curious to discover what was on my wall and in my news feed.
As more people got into the habit of posting, I found the frequency with which I checked my news feed increasing. I was surprised by two things — my tendency to keep scrolling down my news feed (infinite scrolling) and people's tendency to posture and virtue signal online. I found both my own addictive behaviour, and the pretentiousness, humble bragging posts from acquaintances, off-putting. Unsurprisingly, I left these scrolling sessions with a bad taste in my mouth. Why do I voluntarily do something that leaves me in a not so great mood? I started wondering why I even used Facebook. To keep in touch with people, why else?
Wait a minute, had I lost touch with people before social networks came along? Not really.
I have always been good at keeping in touch with my family and friends. One of my observations in life had been that as we grew older and got busier, we made more time for the people in our lives that didn't matter much — acquaintances and colleagues — and took for granted the people who meant the most — family and friends. From my early adult days, I consciously made time to keep in touch with the people who mattered to me.
I value deep and meaningful connections, and once I form them, I tend to hold on to them. If I think of a friend or a family member, I was (and am) in the habit of just calling them and catching up if they were free. Facebook didn't help me keep in touch with them. Facebook reconnected me with many past acquaintances, but after the initial excitement of exchanging pleasantries and life updates, I saw no reason to stay in touch. That is when I had my small Aha moment — There was a reason I was not in touch with the schoolmates and relatives I found on Facebook; I was not close to them to begin with. And just like that, I left Facebook.
A couple of years later, I dabbled with WhatsApp. The first mobile I ever bought was a Blackberry Bold. I loved it and I was a fan of the Blackberry Messenger (BBM) - an instant messaging app not very different from WhatsApp. But its utility was limited to those who had a Blackberry. WhatsApp opened up instant messaging and suddenly I was able to stay in touch with family and friends from around the world. But then WhatsApp became overrun with groups and forwards. In my case, genuine conversations were overtaken by frivolous commentary, reactionary interactions, and sometimes unnecessary confrontation. So, I stepped away WhatsApp.
For professional reasons, I signed up on LinkedIn. Initially, I found it beneficial to research organizations, and connect with relevant people. In the last couple of years, I saw it launch Facebook-like features, and I experienced the return of my doom scrolling behaviour. I still think it's a useful platform, but just like I don't buy junk food for home (why keep temptation around?), why use something that brings out behaviours that leave you worse off? I left LinkedIn too (hibernated my account, to be precise).
Each of these platforms started out with the promise to connect people and bring them together. In their own ways each platform encouraged shallow interactions, and nudged people to become aware of everything that made us different instead of doubling down on everything that we had in common. I often get trolled, even from well-meaning people, for my decision not to use any of these platforms. In my humble opinion, these platforms are using us. The only valid critique is that opting out of these platforms can be misconstrued as I don't want to interact with the online world or I am trying to hide from it, both of which are not true.
I would be happy to be discovered and connect with like-minded and unlike-minded people. But I would prefer to do it on my terms. Setting terms can come across as arrogant but in an online world where the norms of interaction are constantly changing, I want to be conscious and transparent about mine. Simply said, I want the flexibility to engage when I am also up to it.
When I think about claiming my corner on the Internet, I imagine building my online home on my terms. Unfortunately, most options of renting space (on one of these platforms) to build my home does put limits how creatively I can shape the place.
It also bears mentioning: I think of a home as a personal space that reflects the owner's personality — quirks, warts, eccentricities, and all. I want my home to be a welcoming space and want everyone who visits, preferably one or a few at a time, to feel welcome and leave with a better understanding of who I am. I don't imagine a home as the place from which someone pontificates to 1000s.
In a world of endless feeds and constant noise, I’m choosing to build something quieter. A space for clarity, connection, and care. Foremost, I want to build this for myself, not for likes or to chase appreciation and validation. I want to return to this space, day after day. If you’ve read this far, I’m glad you visited. Come by anytime.
Update (16/04/2025): I re-activated my LinkedIn Account. Professionally, people were unable to find me online. I plan to keep the account active until my SEO skills propels this website to the top of any search query about me.