My Online Existential Crisis

I’ll spare you the excuses for why I haven’t been writing consistently. But perhaps an update will help.

 When I started writing This Woman’s Work I was on hiatus from what had been an intense period as a manager in Big Tech. The pandemic wasn’t letting up; my kids had just finished out the school year online and were beginning a summer of Camp Mom. In between daily outings with my kids, weekly grocery shopping trips (something I hadn’t done consistently for years) and intense periods of jigsaw puzzling with CNN on in the background I tried to discern what it was that I wanted to do next. But all that I could think about was what I didn’t want to do anymore.

 It was in this uncertain climate that I started writing again, something I’d done semi-professionally in past lives but always gave up when opportunities with W-2s attached to them came along. Somewhere lies the abandoned blog, unsigned book contract, and archived articles from my past (actually, they were all printed out and stashed in my former bedroom by my mother, who believes in the digital apocalypse and having hardcopies of everything). And I learned that while having an opinion in a professional setting can be a good thing, most employers prefer that you not muddy the waters with too much youness, especially if you are not all that likable, or have flammable thoughts, or secretly hate your employer. All these make for nonstarters in most marketing departments.

 So this was why I started writing this newsletter: from a professional standpoint I had nothing to lose—no one’s brand to blow up but my own. And in this less encumbered state I started remembering what I liked about work, and what professional bets I would be willing to make. For instance, I realized that, aside from some personal indulgences (I once packed 11 pairs of shoes for a 3-day business trip, for “optionality”) I’m not that complicated. I don’t want for food, shelter, wifi and hugs, and I realize that this year these things could not be taken for granted. My new indulgences are hardcover books. If I found myself with $100 million, I would put some ducats into the kids’ college accounts, top off the retirement fund, and invest in underrepresented founders and what I call “democratizing” technology (no it has nothing to do with certifying elections). If I’m honest, I would probably throw in some shoes. 

 All this to say, I would rather take on big challenges that could make a difference versus sure things that perpetuate a morally ambivalent status quo.

 Which brings me to what I’m doing now.

 Late this summer I was introduced to a seed-stage company called The @ Company. I didn’t know much about it, other than it was building technology premised on re-thinking the now-distorted value proposition of the Internet. Time was, WE used to access the Internet as we needed to, whether it was to post a resume, buy a book, or find an apartment to rent. The Internet was so effective that, eventually, we used it to do things we never thought possible in any other context but In Real Life (IRL), from personal banking to connecting with friends and family.

 I love this Internet, but I worry about it.

Like many global innovations and delights, like plastic or soda pop, too much is not a good thing. And the winners of the Internet, to whom I refer as Big Tech, as well-intentioned as many who work for them may be, have operated on giving us tastes of convenience, opportunity, and entertainment, addicting us, and offering us end-to-end encrypted dime bags of notifications to the point where we don’t even know that we’re dependent on it. We just see Mark Zuckerberg explaining to Congress how cookies work, and we ask, how did this happen? And then we get a ping on Messenger, and think, “Wait, did something happen?”

The @ Company founders are bonafide grownups in the sense they’ve been around long enough to personally witness this distortion. They have years of experience building and exiting companies and leading enterprise teams. They are no joke; and yet, alongside paradigm-exploding technology they also dream of building apps that say “Duuuude" on demand. When I met them they said they wanted to make the Internet fun again, and they used phrases like “@magic” to describe why cool things happened, and “People” to refer to internet users. They called themselves Internet Optimists.

 These people are weird, I thought. When can I start?

This image is on our homepage--not to worry; the poor lady with the green hair does get cut loose and joins the rest of the crowd, freed from the puppet strings of Internet business models that rely on data tracking and surveillance. The founders thought of this metaphor even before we saw it played out in the Netflix docudrama The Social Dilemma, pinkie swear. It seems the world is waking up to the indigestion of shotgunning soda pop for the last 15-some-odd years.

Given my new team has a sense of humor, I proposed that I reinstate my newsletter, call it Internet Optimist, and continue to write about tech, life, and all the ridiculousness that the two conjure up together. It would be sponsored by The @ Company, which means, when I mention any offers or announcements specific to The @ Company, I make a clear distinction that it’s messaging from our sponsor. I also checked with the CMO (me), and while she has concerns about aligning The @ Company brand with my questionable taste, she's willing to give it a go.

So now I get to write again, as part of my job. Win-win.

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A message from our sponsor: For more on what The @ Company is up to, subscribe to our monthly newsletter. This month: We broke up with Google Analytics, and survived.