Internet is King (and I hate monarchies)
- Brynn Moore
- Dec 7, 2025
- 6 min read
Updated: Dec 22, 2025
It's been about six months since my last confession, (blog post), and I’d say that roughly this is how long it takes to be so revved up by an idea, approximately how long it takes to feel a tide shifting inside that i literally have NO CHOICE but to
write about it
edit the living crap out of my words
become disappointed with the result
OVERCOME said disappointment
then upload it to some intangible sphere and be happy if 2-3 eyeballs give it a peek.
We've made it.
I still feel pretty sucked into the internet, despite being off Instagram since June. I have to be writing more, grounding myself, even though I never return to the same nesting place of jumbled words anyways. Truly, rarely do my thoughts end with the t’s crossed and i’s dotted. But I ought to not blame myself, because I feel like it is the habits of my subconscious creature, rather. She finds just any ol’ nook of a tree, any receptacle within reach to toss her hodgepodge of twigs, half sewn thoughts, and zig zagged feelings. Soon, a bunch of fragmentary stories and feelings will lie all scattered on the soil beneath a canopied overhang. And despite existing in the same space as them, she’ll be left with very little direction on how to shape them into anything intelligible at all. She’ll reorient, catch a gust of wind that knocks her off course five paces due east and become discombobulated, forced in her attempts to rebuild her little slipshod twiggy nests all over again.
You can’t streamline everything in your life. That’s where I’m a bit stuck right now, actually - in the throes of "optimization fatigue." It’s not entirely my style, anyways. While I try to get my “ducks in a row” in the online world with the “sharpest AI software to date” to organize and condense my world into something that is reachable within the scope of a 5x3 inch Macbook trackpad, I fail. I’m sure it works for somebody, but me-oh-my give me PAPER. I guess high performing youtube creators and successful business owners have that sort of thing down pat. Everything is reachable, pocketable, shareable, condensable, mendable etc. Instead, I’ll reach for the notes app on my phone that surfs between 2-3 “accounts” in a “cloud” that may not have been “backed up” because of said devices supposed gigateragoogabyte capacity. I mean goodness.
Maybe the untraceable loose leaf pieces of paper in bags and drawers have more merit to them after all.
It shocks me still that I live in the generation where the Internet is king, not that I’ve known anything different. Although I believe 2001 kids were one of the last few to have had an outdoor-centered childhood. But in my young adult life, I sometimes feel so insanely gripped by the online world. To the point of downright disappointment, where I feel like I don’t reach for my tangible hobbies as much anymore.
At work, I’m online to work. Outside of work, I’m looking online for opportunities to work. Creatively working online to present said project to a community online. To move the needle to some desired outcome in the real world, I must utilize the Internet to enhance my online presence or projects in the gigacloud for the other online users to see.
My head spun, did yours?
Since going "off-grid" (I'm very much still connected), I just think about the “why” behind sharing online far more. I about pour out my heart, soul, and left kidney for recruiter engagement on LinkedIn. A similar effort with my small business, because well yeah, there is some ROI on that front. This is about the sum of my Internet presence right now besides this blog ... which is oh so intimate, might I add? It’s like a two person bubble bath but we communicate with size 11 arial font. More bubbles??
I love taking photos. On my phone, on my film camera, on my late grandma's digital camera from '04, on my nicer Canon that I need to take to the shop...
To solve my lack of digital platform to put them, I've gone moderately old school, becoming a leather bound photo album owner for the anticipated day where I can plop it face up on a coffee table in the living room for my dinner guests to look through when I host them for a themed party. For now it will rest beneath my bed.
The thing is I do want to share my life. On a smaller scale? With a very concentrated group of people that love me? It’s this passive perception that reigns traditional social media I’m still wary of.
This dog I’m watching is so small, it’s like a gerbil. I feel like I’m protecting it from danger because I’m 700x it’s size. Well actually comparing the size to a Havanese on all 4 legs to a 5’10 human like me, it is probably more like 11x or something. Dogs are so easy to love. I cried while shaped in what I consider the idea of the fetal position for thirty minutes and felt like the gerbil dog did indeed register that I was not well.
As I navigate a bit more of my first heartbreak, the end of a first love that was just not meant to last, I find myself succumbing to a full, desperate and weepy sob sometimes. I mean, can you blame a girl for a little waterworks outburst here and there? I feel like I slept pretty hard last night but also not hard enough to shake the frost off all my nests of uncompleted thoughts that I snoozed off into. So by the time the morning sunshine leaked onto the wooden floor of my room, all those twigs remain scattered. Lazy subconscious, I'll tell you what. Not one completed nest of thought in sight. Perhaps I was naive to believe those loose ends would weave themselves together. I believe that one day I won’t care so much anymore, and the hurt won’t slither up and bite me from time to time. Or maybe it will, you know, I haven’t lived long enough to know.
I like how dogs adjust their little (sometimes gerbil-sized) bodies to get comfy. Their small movements seem so insignificant to us. A minute rearrangement while lying sprawled on a flat and hard floor, or curled up into a blanket creased and folded by their wet noses fifty times. Thats probably how little humans are viewed to something much larger than ourselves. Surely God chuckles at our habits every so often.
Maybe God chuckles that I still reflect on the loss of something like my first boyfriend or my ability to fixate on a ding-dang digital footprint long enough to blog about it six months later, all the while He unfolds so much good right under my nose. Adjusting to routine on a familiar, but moderately estranged, turf like that of my parents house… traveling to new places with them (and having a real fabulous time). He walks me towards a new jiu jitsu community to invest in, a space to train hard, and shows me the discipline to prepare for competition. He helps me adjust to old things that feel new again because I am different than I was before. He keeps my awesome (so awesome!) friends in my life from before, strengthening these connections all the while.
I find myself living in Raleigh more comfortably than anticipated-- a level deeper and cozier than before. I'm not plotting so quickly to leave, although you know me, that time may eventually come. Regardless, I find myself falling into things rather than tip toeing, and hitting the ground with this conviction that I don't have to rush to get to a specific place in my life, because life is happening currently. Living! What joy!
My humble jeep wrangler from ‘03 sounds like a hail storm on the highway, a real cochlea slicer to be honest. But it’s red and gets me from point A to B safely. Sometimes Ruby red makes me laugh out loud when the Birkenstock Boston I wedged in between the soft top and the structural bar to keep from the wind pounding on the canvas above me falls right onto my head while merging onto I-40. Sometimes it feels like a ghost in the backseat is trying to slap me silly.
Life is good. Now here are some pictures for the eyes of my bubble bath companions.
