It’s Tuesday. Am I trending?

It’s not the size of my audience, it’s the magic in it.

Tuesday morning dawned with coffee and a dollop of panic. It’s publication day, and despite my plans to have a backlog of drafts ready to go, I’m scrambling to come up with a topic for this week’s postcard.

I spin my wheels worrying about what’s popular and trending. I research tips and tricks for getting noticed on Substack. I could chalk this up to writerly anxiety and perfectionism, and most of you would get it. But that’s not quite it.

The light dawned when I found this Note from

Melissa Cullens

.

“I was so excited at the idea that this [Substack] was my space to make things that delight me. And then I started getting more readers!! And then I started to worry if what I was making would be what they wanted. And I started making things based on my guess of what people might want from me instead of what I was feeling curious about.

I very quickly stopped having fun, and not long after that, what had seemed like an infinite well of inspiration dried right up.” —On Purpose, Melissa Cullens

I wasn’t having fun

I’d start every morning scrolling the Instagram parade of women launching new endeavors, writing motivational books, reclaiming their bodies, and embracing peace and wellness like it was their job—it was their job. I wanted to be one of them, sharing my best life with strangers and collecting followers like a midlife pied-piper.

At age 56, I started measuring my success in likes, comments, and followers. I checked my progress several times daily hoping to see that red person icon with a number next to its tiny head, indicating new followers.

“Are you trying to be an influencer?” my millennial daughter asked one night via text. “You know you need like tens of thousands of followers, right?”

I was well on my way—30% growth since I’d begun posting daily. Thirty percent is fantastic. That’s how I would have positioned it on a quarterly business review. The raw numbers told a different story.

After two years with an Instagram account and several weeks of concerted effort, I had amassed 131 followers. Not only was it discouraging, but it also wasn’t fun.  

I had no regrets about quitting my job, but I wondered. Were the efforts to publish and promote online, followed by the thrill of virtual kudos, merely proxies for the fast-paced excitement and recognition I used to get from my job?

I took a long break from social media, and my approach to the Meta platforms is now random and relaxed.

Along came Substack

I love writing here and showing up in people’s emails every week. The self-imposed deadlines hold me accountable to practice the craft of writing—quickly, succinctly, and often. And nothing beats the feeling I get when my words connect with a reader. And yet—

Recently, I started to feel that old social-media model of comparison and competition creeping back around.

When I read Melissa’s note, I understood why. She sums it up this way:

“I had started trying to productize my work by taking myself out of the equation— literally the opposite of why all those folks started following me in the first place.”

I wrote product value propositions and marketing copy for years—been there, done that. Writing is no fun when I’m treating my work as a product.

Can I be myself and deliver value with my Substack newsletter?

Last night, while seasoning a stir-fry, I thought about my recent post on goal-setting. The title, “Adding this one item to the top of my to-do list changed everything,” suggested I had a secret to getting things done—like I had it all figured out.

I added a paywall to the post, with a downloadable PowerPoint as the value-add (i.e. the product). But did my readers want a PDF of my strategic goals? No. No, they did not.

Here’s the thing I had to remind myself. I didn’t join Substack to BE a writer. I came here to DO writing—to explore, to converse, to connect. That’s my promise of value.

I started writing to be part of a community, not a commodity

I am a Boomer woman who moved to Vermont, hired a life wizard, and quit her job at 56 to test the adage, “It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” I write about reinvention, resilience, and rebellion for women in the middle of their lives.

I do not have it all figured out.

All I ask of you

Next time I share some perky packaged wisdom (or heaven forbid, a PowerPoint) about goals or self-care or any post that smacks of know-it-all-ness, take it with a large pinch of salt and drop this question in the comments:

“Are we having fun yet?”

Work hard. Be brave. Believe.

Catherine

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