Katie writes a blog!

recent posts

  • Should we still make art when the world is breaking?

    As a small artist and content creator, I’m often caught in the debate of what role to take in moments like this. Should I respond directly to the violence — join the outcry, have a voice? Do I stop posting for now, in solidarity? Or do I continue to create and share my art as normal, perhaps providing a small space of refuge for folks who inevitably need a brief escape from the weight of it all? 

    During tragedy, there’s a clash between the obligation to stand up and fight back or to prioritize mental health. And as with most things, I think some balance of the two is key, albeit difficult to find. 

    I used to be a journalist, and to be very vulnerable, one of the reasons I left my professional writing career was the need to always have an angle or response to the current moment. I craved the ability to retreat into a private life, and while still staying mostly informed, to escape the official requirement to know all the latest details and act on them each day. I have so much respect for those who have stayed in journalism or communications, but for me, it was just too much. 

    Now, as someone who lives a mostly quiet life and creates content as just a hobby, I still struggle with the question of how artists should respond when society falls apart.

    I feel that I’m holding my breath, throwing up shields, and seeking self protection. In a time when the U.S. federal government is murdering innocent citizens in the streets or dragging them from their homes without a warrant, I think it’s valid to be afraid. Not just of the potential backlash from speaking out politically, but of the real physical threat that our government has become. 

    I don’t live in Minneapolis, Chicago, or in any of the places where residents are seeing and feeling this violence up close. But I know these dystopian scenes could quickly spread across the country — and my suburban Indiana street looks awfully like the places where federal agents already terrorize without consequence. 

    So, should we keep quiet and stay safe, or should we keep creating? Should we remove ourselves to make space for those doing the more direct work of keeping our communities informed, or do we continue to provide a moment of peace and light for them and for others just trying to get through the day?

    No, I don’t have an answer. Each person should respond in the way that is most right for them, and I’m still figuring out what that means for me. No one should be shamed for prioritizing their own safety and peace, or for simply living a life that does no harm. Still, I think the value of all art — whether it’s a cute animal drawing or an overt political protest — is just as important now as it always has been: To provide an outlet for both joy and rage, a reflection of humanity. To give our minds a moment to wander, in the midst of a painful world. And to inspire others to express their own experience in a way that is beautiful and free.

  • At the root of my social media habit, a desire to be surprised

    After years of phone addiction, I’ve forgotten how to focus on the things that once brought indulgent joy.

    Reading, video games, movies, crafts…

    It’s all too predictable. Even if I don’t yet know the ending, I know it’s set in stone. It’s unchanging, solid, untouchable. 

    Social media has taught me to crave the ever-evolving. There’s some sort of rush in knowing that my feed is personalized and unique, that with each swipe I might be the first to see something new. Liking or commenting has at least some small impact: It’s permeable, malleable, interactive. It’s a never-ending conversation, where all I need to do is scroll to see how the algorithm responds. 

    But I know that really, the majority of those hours online provide little value. Why can’t I just turn it off? The experience is like gambling, investing in loss after loss, just for the chance that I might win big. 

    And sometimes I do. There is plenty of content that does offer real entertainment, education, or perspective on the state of the world that I’m not sure can be found anywhere else. And while rare, I do stumble on posts that feel creative and unique, with that refreshing newness that (I think) is what I’m looking for when I scroll. 

    So while I’ve considered it countless times, I hesitate to give up social media completely. But I do test the waters of sobriety, periodically deleting all these apps for days-long stretches and paying attention to how I feel. 

    When I’m less online, my mind is absolutely more relaxed. The obligation to check for updates gradually melts away. It quiets the constant ringing in my ears. 

    But when I try to fill my time with other things, with the same activities I used to get lost in as a child, there’s a sense of frustration at the slowness and aloneness of it all. 

    To play a game, I need to learn it first, and even then will often get bored. 

    Because I now manage social channels based on my art, it’s hard to find purpose in creating just for me.

    And I used to read for hours on end, but these days I tire quickly and need breaks to digest each chapter. It’s like my brain can’t keep up, while simultaneously wanting to rush through — the ending is already posted, shouldn’t I be there by now? Isn’t it just one scroll away? 

    While spending all this time alone, what important thing am I missing? 

    So I keep coming back. I rarely last a week without re-downloading TikTok or Instagram. And as of now, I’m not sure how I want to move forward. 

    I don’t know how long it would take without social media for my mind to fully heal, or, since I’ll always know (yet wonder) what I’m missing, if it ever could.

    I don’t want to lose touch. I yearn to be in tune with the current world. Not just to keep up with surface trends, but for my own understanding of and connectedness to humanity. I always want to learn new things, but I’ve been trained to believe that if something isn’t BRAND new, it’s already outdated. 

    It may be time I challenge that notion. Today is one of my no-social days, and I’m using it to reflect on and document how I feel without. When I inevitably return, I hope to approach my feed with that same alertness. 

    With each swipe, is that video actually something new, or just a rehash of what I saw yesterday? For the ones that do feel fresh, how much can I recall about them later, rather than smothering any value I gained by just scrolling on to the next post?

    Maybe, eventually, I will work toward quitting social media for good. Maybe analyzing the content mindfully will show that none of it is as valuable as I think. Until then, I’m starting with a simple, yet challenging goal: Remember how to pay attention. 

  • Why I’m starting a blog in 2025

    I’m 28, grew up in the age of social media, and have a bachelor’s degree in journalism. I created my Facebook account when I was 12, spent hours perfecting my MySpace profile from the family computer in the corner of a dark living room, and posted almost daily as an early adopter of Instagram. At one point, I even had an account on Google+. 

    But throughout college and the time since, my relationship with content has been a series of fits and starts. I spent four years learning to write and share stories at a professional level, all while gradually burning out and coming to realize it might not be for me. Even so, I pursued a content marketing job straight out of school that continued to burn me out even more, often feeling like I was putting so much energy into something that would just get lost in the void. What was even the point? 

    But through all that, my experience was never consistently negative. Producing content, whether as part of a professional publication or a personal endeavor, definitely has its highs. Clicking publish on a story or sending out a newsletter… earning a positive comment on a social post… reaching 1000 followers on TikTok… it has been all these little moments of dopamine that keep me coming back. 

    Since leaving my full-time marketing job, I’ve tried a few different times to make it on my own in the world of content. I figured, maybe if I was just doing it for myself instead of someone else, that might be the key to it feeling right.

    For a while I ran an Instagram highlighting different businesses or things to do in my community. This was sometimes satisfying if the subject appreciated the post, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was preying on other people’s real success to create my own clout. I also hated the pressure of turning every outing into content, instead of just enjoying the day. I did this maybe six months before deactivating the page. 

    Then I ventured into film photography, something I still do on occasion. But turning it into a successful social account felt more like a chore, and pushed me to keep taking and developing photos on film (both quite expensive!) that I probably wouldn’t have otherwise. It took away from the whimsy and art of film photography and made it feel like I always needed to be producing something that others might like. And ultimately, with less than 200 followers and a series of photos featuring an incoherent mix of Midwest suburbia plus a couple rare trips out west, that account really wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. 

    Most recently, I’ve been learning linocut printmaking while documenting my art process with videos posted on Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok. I’ve even made a few Etsy sales. This has been the most fun content to create so far, but even so, I can’t seem to get away from the larger dissonance I feel toward social media.

    Scrolling through these platforms is all at once chaotic, addicting, satisfying, and upsetting. There’s an unfathomable amount of content already out there, and more uploaded every day. And if we’re being honest, I think many of us would prefer a world without any of it.

    So then we’re back at the question, what’s the point? 

    Yes, art content is less devious than some. It can be inspirational or educational, and I am supportive of the many artists who showcase their work. I am among them. But when I scroll through my own art-heavy “For You” page and experience the exhaustion of an endless stream of videos that are largely all the same, it’s hard to feel like there’s a purpose in adding to that noise. 

    I’m not saying it’s all bad. If it was, I would have quit a long time ago, but as of now I’m still sporadically posting. Yet my energy toward even these creative accounts is starting to dwindle, forcing me to question yet again whether I can ever find any kind of content creation to be truly fulfilling.

    As someone who basically has a degree in content, and what feels like few other unique skills, that’s a scary prospect. I’ve been documenting things for as long as I can remember—there has to be something there. Yet every time I try to consistently create in a way that’s meant to be seen by others, I eventually fall into an existential crisis about the meaning of it all. 

    So, this blog is my experiment. What does it look like for me to create and document life in the long-lost way of not being primarily for pleasing others or chasing clout? To let myself ramble, be long-winded, and be genuine. Maybe no one will ever read this, and that’s okay—kind of the point, even. Does anyone even read blogs in 2025? But if you are here, and if you do follow along, you can expect this page to be a little bit of everything. A hodge podge of real life, a messy collection of thoughts. Not perfectly edited, limited by one niche, or wrapped up in a snappy 30-second video, because that’s not what life is.

    And I’m tired of pretending that is what it should be.