"You're gonna get left behind" - A creator's response to this obnoxious idea

“You’re gonna get left behind!”

Leave me behind. I’m begging you. Please. Where you’re headed is not where I’m going.

Leave me behind and let me dance with those who remain. Leave me here, joyful to have some companions who believe the process is the point, not the end result. (This is also a better way to see our best results.)

Let me sit here in silence without your incessant nagging, so I can notice the world and turn that infinite source of quiet inspiration into stories. Let me agonize over ideas and drafts meant to stir hearts and engage minds, not merely fill feeds.

Let me sit with my thoughts in the morning with some good bread and great coffee as I daydream about the next project or piece or sentence or word. Leave me to sip my favorite bourbon after a dinner made with love. I’m busy enjoying the feeling of a pen in my hand as it suggests the next great What If.

Go away, please and thank you, so I can cackle to myself. One burst is for you as you miss the point of this work entirely, and one laugh is for me, as I visualize my work entering a world starved for deeper and better—forever grateful for the sameness, making it easier to stand out. (More bourbon for me and my friends here!)

Leave me behind, please. Journey so far away from me, I can’t hear your opinions, processed through the Business Celebrity Industrial Complex just enough that you’re ready to pass off those words as your own. (It’s an epidemic these days, huh? But the cure is mere inches off the screen—any direction will do.)

(Oh, and while we’re at it, KEEP MY EM DASHES OUT YO DAMN MOUTH.)

I don’t find this moment exciting or chaotic or unnerving or transformational.

I find it boring.

Overly predictable. And boring.

So get on with it already. Leave me behind. Just take the tedium with you. Bloviate down the road, over the hills, and far away.

Manufacture mediocrity somewhere else. Don’t get all that beige, bland dust all over my space here.

Leave me behind. Go in peace, but go with haste. I’ve got important work to do on this earth—and I don’t have time to waste.

Leave me here. Let me dance with those who remain. Yes, you and I create “content,” but we are not the same.

Keep moving, please. Go far and fast, until I’m nothing but a speck—happy and excited without your fire hose of drek.

You say I’m in trouble, that I am doomed, but here is where I’ll stay. And before you say another word: you promised you’d go away.

“You’ll get left behind,” you say again.

Your final helpful try.

Ah, I see!

I get it now!

Thanks for sharing.

Bye.