Logging Off, Leaning In

We live in a world where happiness is constantly being sold to us—through highlight reels, products, services, influencers, and whatever the next trend happens to be. I suppose it's always been this way. Television, advertisements, and capitalism have long encouraged us to believe that fulfillment is something we can buy.

Lately, though, I've noticed something that feels like it's quietly disappearing: genuine human connection.

Are we still doing that? Really?

I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with social media. Mostly hate, if I'm being honest. It promotes a polished version of happiness while convincing us we need things we never knew we wanted. Sometimes it feels like we're all starving for attention, trying to prove something, or hoping to monetize every part of ourselves.

Yes, I realize the irony of writing that on a blog.

But I guess I have to release these thoughts somewhere.

I could go on about how much I miss the days before we instinctively reached for our phones every few minutes. The days when being present wasn't something we had to intentionally practice. Of course, those years weren't perfect either. Most of my friends spent plenty of nights too intoxicated to remember the memories unless someone happened to capture them on film. We weren't always present then, either.

I think what I really miss isn't the past.

I miss feeling deeply alive and connected.

Maybe I just haven't discovered all the things that create that feeling in this season of life. It's also possible that some of the things that once made me feel alive weren't actually healthy for me. Maybe this is just another growing pain—grieving the version of myself that needed to exist before making room for who I'm becoming.

One thing I do know is that I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing as an artist.

Then again, I'm not convinced any artist truly does.

Most creatives seem to exist in this strange contradiction. We desperately want to share what we've made with the world, yet the moment someone pays attention, we suddenly want to hide. Maybe that's why sharing online feels safer. There's a comfortable distance between you and the audience.

That's probably one of the few things I genuinely appreciate about technology. It makes creating and sharing art incredibly accessible.

Of course, knowing the world we live in—and AI—there's always that lingering thought that everything we create is being analyzed, repurposed, or capitalized on in one way or another.

That thought came back to me after visiting the Banksy exhibit in Tampa this weekend.

I'm no expert on Banksy, nor am I trying to advertise the exhibit, but I left thinking more than I had in a while. It forced me to question consumerism, privilege, and the systems we've quietly accepted as normal. Some of the artwork made me genuinely uncomfortable.

I think that's exactly what good art is supposed to do.

It should make us question.

It should interrupt us.

It should make us think.

Sometimes I feel almost ridiculous believing my own thoughts are worth sharing. Who am I to think my writing might help someone?

Then again, I also believe everyone deserves a voice.

I just don't think our voices were meant to stay trapped behind screens or inside isolated little corners of the internet.

Life is meant to be lived.

As I get older, though, I'm realizing I don't always know what that looks like anymore. By the time the workday is over, I'm drained. I know I need more connection, more community, more conversations that aren't filtered through notifications.

I just don't always know where to find those people yet.

Phones offer an easy substitute. They're convenient. They're always there.

But when the reaper eventually comes calling, will any of us wish we'd spent more time scrolling?

Is this really what evolution was leading us toward?

Are we headed for a WALL-E future... or an Idiocracy one?

Maybe a little of both.

So with that, I'll leave you.

This will be my last post on this website. I've decided I no longer want to keep paying for a platform just to house my passion projects. If I continue writing, it will likely be on substack—although I realize that's just another app to check for me which seems daunting in a way.

If I end up posting there, you can find me at @jillianmariehynes

Instagram will probably remain the place where I share most often.

And Facebook?

I honestly don't know who half the people in my feed are anymore.

Stay steady.

Stay curious.

And if you can...

Stay connected.

Au revoir. ❤️