algorithms and bots and unfollowers, oh my

2023 - my year in numbers and celebrating what matters most

Who are these two and what are they doing at the top of my story? More on that in a minute, but first…

388 and 579

Recently, I had an onslaught of new followers on Instagram. For shits and giggles, I took a gander at their profiles. They ranged from a crypto trader, to a distillery and cocktail establishment, to a few fairly attractive, single men—the sensitive types who love puppies and positive affirmations. If I wasn’t so keen and quick on the uptake (can you say bot?), I could easily fool myself into believing that I have it going on at the ripe age of 59 and these single gents are enchanted with me (and my charismatic IG feed) and perhaps have taken an interest. But then I snap myself back from Fantasy Island and the next thing I know, McDreamy is no longer following me and I’m one follower down. I guess the bot police took my “failure to follow back” personally and moved along to the next victim.

Oh well.

Last time I checked, I had 388 followers on Instagram and 579 friends on Facebook.

As you can see by my numbers, I am not of influencer status by today’s social media…ahem…standards. But If I were, I can see how size—of my follower list— would matter, especially if I had chosen that path as my source of bread and butter. If you ask me, the bots, algorithm, likes, friends and followers are all enough to drive you a little kooky. Not to mention—bot or no bot—the unfollows and unfriendings can be a killjoy and do a number on one’s ego, should you allow that foolishness to do so. I’m not the egotistical type, so I have no concerns there, and I’ll take a hard pass on anything that kills my joy.

I, fortunately, do not rely on social media to support myself financially. That’s not an emotional rollercoaster I wish or believe I am cut out to ride. So to those who have figured a way to navigate the bots and algorithmic anxiety surrounding online entrepreneurship, my hat’s off to you.

Eek!

Celebrating what matters most.

125

I have now been on Substack for four months, and it has exceeded any expectation I, quite honestly, did not have at the onset. Let me explain.

Social media is a filler for boredom. It is a time suck. And it is addictive.

I admit it. Historically, I have been a doom scroller. There I said it.

Let’s say I was alone for a few minutes waiting on friends at a restaurant. No doubt, there I was standing and waiting, phone in hand checking emails, social media notifications and whatever the hell else there was to do to distract and busy myself during the in between waiting moments.

Why?

Why was it so difficult to be still of mind without having the constancy of mindless clutter to fill the void? Why couldn't I just be, and not have my head in my phone? Oy!

Anyway, one day, out of sheer curiosity, I checked my Screen Time for the very first time since having my iPhone. Thank goodness I was sitting down.

I was aghast.

Photo - Masterfile

How could this be? Certainly, I work and exercise and go to dinners and hang with friends and sleep, and read books, and watch movies and… and… and…

I am too embarrassed to give you my stats, but suffice it to say, they were pathetic.

And eye opening.

Ironically, during the time, I had received an email from a writer I had been following who was notifying her subscribers that she was migrating over to Substack.

What the heck was Substack? Please, not another social media platform.

And then I read her words…

“The more I learned about Substack, the more I found that it aligned keenly with my own vision and values for my creative work and life. It’s a quiet place, free from advertising and sponsored content, where deep connection and relationships can be fostered.”

Carmella Rayone

Deep connection… relationships… fostered

Deep connection… relationships... fostered

Deep connection… relationships… fostered

This was exactly what I was looking for - a writing community.

A place to connect beyond surface level and converse about life, its imperfections and triumphs, its madness and its stillness. All of it.

In August, I moved to Substack and began The Wicked Pissah with my 90 subscribers. For my readers, nothing had changed other than I was using a different email platform to communicate my writing.

Yet for me, an entirely different story evolved.

I discovered that there was an entire other universe out there.

I discovered other writers and, wait for it… humans. Like-minded people who were thriving in their craft. There was conversation and resonance. Listening and learning.

A community of loveliness.

Since August, my readership grew to 125 subscribers. I’m thrilled.

I still enjoy social media. Don’t get me wrong. Where else would I find such epic treasures like this little girl with the Yipick from Homie Depot?

I’m just making better use of my “Screen Time” these days.

Steady as we go.

Thank you

Substack

---

66

66 is the number of sales I made since publishing my memoir in April of this year. A majority of those 66 were friends and family. People who had a genuine interest in supporting something they knew was important to me.

Of those 66, there were a handful that were strangers. Let’s say seven. Seven strangers who purchased and read my book and reached out to extend their words of gratitude—that my courage and willingness to tell my story gave them hope and encouragement.

Seven strangers who now have hope because I published my memoir, told my story and made a difference for them.

66 souls who believe in me. I’m beyond grateful.

As Mr. Rogers would say:

It's such a good feeling to know you're alive
It's such a happy feeling you're growing inside…

Sappy, I know.

I wrote my memoir as a love letter to myself and to my kids.

It wasn’t as if they didn’t know me. Of course they did. They knew the fun me, the supportive me, the annoying me, the kiss the boo-boo and make-it-all-better me and the momma bear me.

But I wanted them to know the sum total of me.

My life as a child. My pain, insecurities, mistakes and fears. My complicated relationship with my mom, growing up without a father and the very difficult decision I made to split our family 13 years ago.

That was my why in doing so.

5.14.23

I wrote this in May of this year. I feel it bears repeating in terms of celebrating what matters most… those two rugrats in the pic at the top of this post.

My kids are in their early 20’s. 
I know what is first and foremost on their minds
and it has NOT been the fact that their mom was writing a book.

Surely, they have been supportive
(no matter what it is that I am doing),
but I know they have more important things going on….
like sleeping, eating, fishing, friends, girlfriend/boyfriend,
school, pedicures, dip manicures, golfing, work
and everything in between that 20 somethings do.

So I wasn’t kidding myself.

But then, what does one say
when presented with something as priceless as this? 

Internally, I wanted to scream into a megaphone
from outer space for all the universe to hear,
but in the moment, I was frozen feeling all the feels. 
I couldn’t adequately express
my feelings of gratitude and what the act,
and the thought that went into it
truly meant to me as a mom.

So I will say it here and now, thanks for making
your momma feel like a superstar
and putting this ad
about little ole me
and my little ole book
in the Post.

Thank you for being here.

xo Char