The Unexpected Joy Of A Midlife Online Reboot

No cringing, just connection.

It was July 2024.

I’d never posted anything publicly on Instagram. I hadn’t started my Substack newsletter. I didn’t call myself a writer.

What I did have was the second draft of my debut novel (naively believing it to be the final draft) and a ticket to a writer’s conference.

Oh, the nerve of it.

Purchasing an expensive ticket. Arranging a weekend to myself. Pursuing my teenage dreams in midlife.

As the date drew closer, I joined a Zoom call for terrified attendees.

It was full of anxious writers who needed their hand held and their worries calmed whilst they were coaxed out of their shells. To help us, we had a walk through of the conference - there would be talks from famous writers, craft workshops and a feedback meeting with an agent who would have read my synopsis and first 5000 words.

When the Zoom facilitator suggested that anyone attending alone post on the conference message board to make a few connections, I rolled my eyes.

That wasn’t me. Why would I even consider ‘making friends on the internet’?

I was too busy with my IRL-life when MySpace took off. The blogging boom of the noughties had passed me by as I found my post-university feet by moving to Shoreditch and living my best life. After a brief stint of posting boring snaps and reconnecting with people who barely spoke to me at school, I gave up Facebook. For the last few years, Instagram had been the place I shared occasional holiday pictures with a handful of close friends.

That’s not to say I didn’t consume social media. Like anyone, I could happily pass an hour scrolling through other people’s lives. I occasionally posted on my work-related accounts about education or teaching news… though never anything personal, nothing that was actually about me.

Believe it or not, I’m a really private person. Prying eyes, judgement, opinions. Not for me.

I’m a teacher, educational consultant and novelist with an academic background in English Literature, Philosophy and Psychology. Learn more about my free fortnightly newsletter for deep thinkers and creative souls.

But as the conference approached, I started to panic. Who would I sit with at lunch? Who would I lean on before my agent meeting?

So in a moment of desperation, I did the unthinkable (for me, anyway) and posted I’m going to the conference alone, anyone want to connect beforehand?

To my surprise, a few people responded. And then a few more.

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Still uncomfortable with chatting in so public a place, I moved everyone over to a private WhatsApp group. With a few shameless keystrokes on the ‘internet’ I found that I had gone from writing in isolation to having a ready-made circle of writers to seek out at the conference.

Hmm. Maybe there was some truth to all this ‘making online friends’ business.

The first two people I spoke to at the conference, in the queue to get our badges, recognised me from the my WhatsApp profile picture. Over the next two days, we found other members of our group, with people drifting in and out of our conversations. But somehow, the creative spark between the three of us fanned itself into roaring fire. I wondered how I’d managed to write a novel without knowing anyone else grappling with the same struggles.

One of those women, on learning that I had set up a public Instagram account six months earlier but was too afraid to post anything, held my hand (literally, not figuratively) as she showed me how to upload a conference snap.

I held my breath, waiting for the world to end. Waiting for everyone I knew to tell me I couldn’t call myself a writer. That I should stop being so silly.

But guess what, dear reader, they didn’t.

Not one of my zero followers laughed.

That moment cracked the door open and I stepped into what has become one of the most satisfying creative endeavours of my life (bar writing), running my little bookstagram account. Within months, I had actual friends who I’d met through social media. Some who loved the same books as me, some who were on the same writing journey as me, some actual real-life published novelists… all of whom were normal people.

Oh the joy of having found this in midlife.

Buoyed by this small success, I considered sharing my thoughts on Substack. I counted back to March to see how many months had passed since I set up my account.

Six. Must be my lucky procrastination number.

So I wrote my first Substack newsletter. And yet again, no one told me to stay in my teaching lane nor to keep my thoughts to myself as they didn’t care what a middle-aged mum had to say.

In fact, the ‘didn’t care’ brigade seemed not to be reading my newsletter. Handy.

And just like that, I’ve passed my one-year bookstaversary on IG and will reach that milestone with my fortnightly Substack newsletter in November.

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And what have I learnt? More than my internet-shy mind could have ever imagined…

1. You don’t need to wait for permission. No one will tap you on the shoulder and say, ‘You’re allowed to start now.’ You just begin.

2. There is real joy in finding your people. Not everyone will understand what you’re doing, but the ones who do make it all worth it.

3. Other people feel awkward too. Whether it’s starting a conversation at a conference or posting online, you’re not the only one figuring it out.

4. It’s not too late. Not for you, not for your ideas, not for your story. Midlife is as good a time as any to begin.

How did you find your way to social media or Substack? I’m curious to hear about other people’s journeys.

Photo Credits:

1. Aman Pal on Unsplash

2. Kelly Common on Unsplash

3. Dayne Topkin on Unsplash