In April 2021, I deleted my Twitter account after nearly 12 years of what I referred to as "sending messages in bottles" on the platform. One day I woke up to my pile of short-form quips, blurbs, and customer complaints, and I thought, "What story are you telling? Is this the legacy that you want to leave?" I grew out of my Twitter shoes.
I ended my Twitter tenure with 510 followers: a solid group of mostly strangers who never paid much attention to me as far as I could tell. Except for the guy in Barcelona who compared my writing to Murakami's. Except for the handful of feminist Swedish men who also happen to be computer programmers. Except for Jesse. Except for Sonia. Except for Mia. Except for Ed.
Goodbye friends, may we meet again.