I started this blog in 2003 on the suggestion of a former coworker. I used it like a journal. I wrote personally, stream-of-consciousness, almost like letters to friends.
It was like that for a few years. But then social media arrived, and those of us who were early adopters in the blog space were thrust into spotlights. My near-anonymity vanished.
IRL neighbors started approaching me with sly looks. “I found your blog,” they’d say, as if they’d uncovered a secret. Purplecar.net was not a secret — nor was it truly anonymous like many blogs were then — I just didn’t advertise.
Then came the capitalism. I refused to put ads on my blog despite the pressure. Looking back, maybe that refusal looks foolish; at the time, I didn’t want to commercialize my thoughts. I didn’t want to pore over Google Analytics daily. I didn’t want to chase engagement. But the online space simply wouldn’t tolerate anything else for long. There was pressure to pick a niche, build a brand, and maintain it.
In 2007 I erased four years of personal journal posts and changed my focus. I branded myself as a blogger interested in the convergence of psychology and technology.
For a few years I kept at it, even when my heart wasn’t fully committed. The change cost me some friends/readers, but it gained me the social-media crowd. I found the topics interesting, but I wasn’t willing to permanently brand myself that way. Eventually, I gave up, and this blog sat in virtual storage for several years.
Yesterday, after the new iOS update, I considered the Journal app — simple, searchable, calm interface. I’ve been journaling by hand since I was a child; only recently have I slowed my daily practice. Would that app get me back into logging some thoughts? Then I remembered: I already have a blog I could use for that.
I made a post on TikTok yesterday about how blogging can feel futile — like screaming into the void. But I don’t want to write only about psychology, technology, AI, or politics. I don’t want a brand. Today I realized I wasn’t thinking straight about it.
Thankfully, since leaving Twitter and laying low these past several years, I have almost zero followers. That’s a gift.
This is now sacred expression. My own ritual. I don’t need to turn on comments. Friends who want to reach me will. Strangers who stumble across this may stay, or they may pass by. Either way, it’s fine.
I won’t check analytics. No advertisers will clock my presence. And it’s fine if neighbors or friends read this; it was never a secret. I’m older now, and less concerned — less afraid — of being seen.
Talking (not screaming) into the void is the point.
It’s okay if you’re along for the ride. You are welcome here. And it’s okay if you’re not. I’m a writer. And writers write.