Quitting X ... Again
onFebruary 3rd, 2025
In November of last year, I decided to create an account on X in an attempt to connect with photographers and write for a larger audience. While there were a few small communities that weren't inundated with AI-generated imagery passed off as self-taken photos, the vast majority of what appeared in my timelines seemed to revolve around topics I have absolutely zero interest in. Fistfights, acts of violence, destructive driving, and an endless stream of intentionally skewed presentations of world events consistently interrupted the photo-focused accounts I followed. These interruptions frustrated me not only because of the asininity of the content but also because the accounts that thrived on violence and vitriol tended to attract audiences dozens to hundreds of times larger than the talented photographers I admired.
If great photographers receive just a few hundred impressions for well-considered, perfectly framed images, how could someone like me ever gain any traction?
Worse, my experimental use of the Articles feature proved to be little more than an expensive bust. Despite paying the Premium+ subscription fees for two months, the articles were largely ignored. While this could be due to the fact that X doesn't seem to be a place for personal writing—or any long-form content—the core issue seems rooted in the platform's incentives driven by the promise of monetisation. Despite all the marketing hype, people are actively encouraged to employ the same tactics used by traditional media to attract eyeballs and interactions. Mr. Musk has famously exclaimed, "You are the media now!" and that's true; the big accounts behave just like the newspaper websites many claim to have abandoned. Every post is a lede. Every image is designed to trigger a response.
No thank you.
Over the past few months, I have struggled with the question of what to do next with my life. I know what I do not want to do. But this begs the very important question: how will the bills be paid if I'm unwilling to participate in the corporate world going forward?
Will I write my own software to create services that others can use? Will I create videos for YouTube? Will I make video games? Will I write long-form articles on Substack? Or will I do something else entirely? It seems that every week or two, discouragement creeps in, sowing seeds of despair and sending me in search of yet another possible future. However, with just six weeks until my current employment contract comes to an end, time is running very thin.
Yet, perhaps this looming deadline isn't just a ticking clock—maybe it's a catalyst. A chance to finally choose not based on fear of failure or financial insecurity, but on the conviction of what matters most to me. Maybe the question isn't "What will I do?" but "What will I build that reflects who I am, even if no one notices?" Because in the end, the work itself—the process, the creation—might be the reward I've been seeking all along.