I See You
A love letter to the writers on Medium.
I see you, ambitious young man in Mumbai, with your passion and all those myriad ideas burning their way out through your ribcage.
I see you, retired woman in South Dakota, finally writing because it’s something you’ve always wanted to do, sharing the life wisdom you’ve accumulated over six hard, hard decades.
I see you, 40-something man in Glasgow who reached out to the ineffable one night when you were alone under the stars, feeling something missing, feeling an ache that made you desperate; who then, in an instant, touched on a single, potent truth that rearranged the atoms of your life’s course. Who now wants to share that, bring others into its orbit, help them find solace like you did.
I see you, 30+ corporate success who spends most of her time feeling like a single giant, abraded nerve; who hates what she must do to make a living, who dreams of finding peace… and who’s terrified of not recognising that peace when it comes.
I see you, successful person in your 20s, full of piss and vinegar, adoring life and dreaming big, thinking that you’ve done it all, know it all, are living it all. (And who are we — the older, sadder, more broken ones — to tell you differently? You’ll learn soon enough that humans are fickle and life is unpredictable and the most important stuff will probably turn out to be everything you’d now scoff at while your body works perfectly and your losses don’t break you and you have more years ahead of you than behind you.)
I see you all.
I see everyone who’s hoping that this time, with this post, they’ll succeed. Go viral. Crack 1,000 followers. Get a bonus. Have reason to celebrate. They’re by a tiny window, bashing out words on a reconditioned, out-of-date laptop. Or they’re sitting out on their patio by the pool. Or they’re in the subway, wearing out their thumbs on their phones.
I see the people writing to exorcise their past. The bitter and the bruised, trying to make sense of a history that wasn’t their fault. Desperate to heal themselves, write their way past the wounds, the betrayals, the bullies, those thousand undeserved cuts we carry from our childhood when we were small and innocent and perfect.
I see the anger and the pain; I see outrage and resolve. I see humour and hope and courage. And I see the settled ones, the ones who’ve found balance and beauty, who write to pour their insights like balm over these turbulent, troubled, hopeful times.
We, the creators of Medium, are no different to any other group. We’re a representative sample of the human race. And today, right now, in this minute, this representative is feeling too old and tired to judge any of you.
So tell me about your bonuses or how many followers you have. Show me how to make money. Explain to me how you clawed your way back from depression or a broken marriage. Share the insights that only you, with your unique experience inside this vivid potency we call life, can express.
This stuff we write, it isn’t just about noise. It’s not just about creating jabber to fill the bottomless pit of the digital world we’ve created or satiate the limitless appetite of our brains.
It’s about colour and experience and learning as you go. It’s about fucking up and not giving up. Or walking away and not looking back.
It’s kaleidoscopic, and it’s priceless.
So bring it on. Have at it. Because today, I’ll consume it all.
I’ll add the energy of my thoughts and my reactions to your creations. I’ll engage with them. I’ll react.
And I won’t judge.
Because today, right now, I see you. I really do.