I Deleted All My Social Accounts — Yet I Feared Loneliness More

The Screen at 3 a.m. Was My Only Mirror

I used to scroll through feeds like someone chasing luck in a casino—thinking each like was a win. But one night, after deleting every account, I sat alone in my Manhattan apartment, watching the blue glow of my laptop. No chimes. No notifications. Just silence.

The absence didn’t feel empty—it felt honest.

There Are No Lucky Streaks Without Intention

I used to think success meant betting big: chasing bonuses, waiting for viral moments, counting followers like gold coins. Now I know: the real payout isn’t in algorithms or timed promotions—it’s in the breath before you click ‘post’. The rhythm isn’t loud; it’s quiet.

My grandmother’s tea house in San Francisco taught me: fortune isn’t drawn from the table—it’s carried in your hands.

The Ritual Isn’t Winning. It’s Showing Up.

I joined no community anymore. But sometimes, at dawn, I open an old sketchbook—the one with ink smudges and coffee stains—and write about what it means to be seen without being heard.

A friend once said: ‘You don’t need to win the game to be worthy.’

So now I play differently.

You Are Not a Player. You Are the Table.

The algorithm doesn’t care if you’re winning. It only cares if you’re present.

And when you show up—in silence, with intention—you become more real than any avatar ever could.