Why I Keep Writing on Medium Despite Limited Readership

Photo by Roksolana Zasiadko on Unsplash

You know, there’s a peculiar charm in whispering into the void. It’s like singing in the shower, but instead of water, you’re drenched in words and metaphors. I’ve been writing on Medium for a while now, and let’s be honest, my readership isn’t exactly breaking records. But here’s the kicker: I don’t really care. Yeah, you heard that right.

Writing, for me, isn’t a popularity contest. It’s a raw, unfiltered conversation with myself. And if a few souls happen to eavesdrop, well, that’s just a bonus. I remember this one evening, I was sitting at this quaint little coffee shop. The kind of place that’s so hipster, it probably doesn’t even know it’s hipster. I was typing away, lost in a sea of thoughts about existential dread or maybe it was cats… honestly, it’s a toss-up.

And then, this barista, with a beard that would make a lumberjack envious, leans over and says, “Hey, I read your piece on Medium. It was… different.” Different. Not mind-blowing, not life-changing, just… different. But that’s the beauty of it. My words had reached another human being and made them feel something. Even if it was just a mild confusion or a curious eyebrow raise.

Writing on Medium isn’t about chasing virality or fishing for compliments. It’s about the gritty, the quirky, the downright bizarre thoughts that claw their way out of my brain. It’s about authenticity, unapologetic and unbridled. Sure, a larger audience would be great, but it’s not the endgame. The endgame is to keep spilling ink (or pixels, I guess) in a way that’s true to me.

There’s this piece I wrote once, about how life is essentially a series of awkward interactions and questionable decisions. It got like, what, ten claps? Maybe twelve on a good day. But among those claps was someone who said it made them laugh on a particularly rough day. That, my friends, is why I keep at it. For those small, almost invisible moments of connection. Those tiny sparks in an otherwise dark room.

In a world obsessed with metrics and statistics, I choose to measure success differently. Success is the smirk that forms when I write a particularly snarky line. It’s the catharsis of pouring out thoughts that have been fermenting in the back of my mind. It’s about finding joy in the process, not just the outcome.

So, here I am, still tapping away on Medium, sending my words into the abyss. Maybe they’ll find a home in someone’s thoughts, maybe they’ll just float aimlessly. But either way, I’ll keep writing. Because in the end, it’s not about the readership. It’s about being unashamedly, wonderfully, me.

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