Cigarettes, Social Media, and Long(ish)-Format Writing

Hello Substack, I'm here to slow down

I used to incessantly update my Myspace page. Then it was Facebook. Then I started blogging. Blogging was harder but much more rewarding. It was slower but deeper.

Then I got on Instagram. And Twitter, long before it was X. Then I started writing articles and books. Articles were harder to write. Books were harder still. But they were both so much more rewarding. They were slower, excruciatingly so. But they were also deeper, exponentially so.

For years I’ve practiced rhythms of digital sabbath as suggested by Andy Crouch—an hour a day, a day a week, a week a year. Soon, the rhythm became several waking hours a day and a few weeks a year. As I went from the manic speed of social media to the human pace of embodied presence, I found myself longing more and more for the slower, deeper thing.

Part of this rhythm in recent years has been to log completely off of social media for a few weeks every summer when I get away to rest with family and friends. My break this year doesn’t come until July. But I found myself giddy with “Oh, I can’t wait” anticipation. So I decided not to. A couple of weeks ago, I logged off of social media and don’t plan on returning until August. I don’t miss it. Honestly, thinking about logging back on bums me out a little.

Some of my work necessitates Insta-, X-, Facebook-engagement. Writing publicly involves a good faith commitment with publishers and organizations to do my part. So I’ll re-enter the social media fray later this summer.

But I created this Substack in part to keep myself as balanced as possible. In the coming months and years, my hope is two-fold:

1. That I’ll re-establish the discipline and re-discover the joy of (semi-)regular, long(ish)-format writing.

2. That others who long for slower and deeper might meet me here, in increasing measure.

Full disclosure though, I also have something more personal and far more important than writing at stake. I have kids.

In the 1940’s, roughly 40% of American adults smoked cigarettes. But when sales began to dip, Camel cigarettes hired the William Esty ad agency to devise a nationwide campaign to boost sales. And they did.

In hindsight, these ads are laughable. Less than 12% of Americans smoke today because we know better—about cigarettes, at least. In fifty years I think we’ll look back and horribly regret putting smartphones and access to social media in the hands of teenagers. Truth is, we’re starting to feel that way even now.

The brilliant and heartbreaking work of Jonathan Haidt, Jean Twenge, and others in recent years has had a clarifying and sobering effect on me—as a pastor and writer, yes, but most of all, as a husband and father. My daughter is just a couple of years away from middle school. The clamoring for social media is minimal at this point but we’re certainly experiencing an uptick.

A few months back, as she sat and waited at her brother’s basketball practice, a friend from school who happened to be there brought over her mother’s phone and opened Instagram. The girls proceeded to spend the next 15 minutes taking pictures of themselves, adding filters, and giggling away.

A few duck-faced selfies with cat ears is no harm. But for a week or two following, our usual conversations about more meaningful things on our morning drive to school were often interrupted by seemingly out-of-the-blue questions about Instagram. It’s starting already.

The data on social media’s ruinous effect on the mental and emotional well-being of young girls is abundantly clear. As a family, we’re committed to Jonathan Haidt’s recommendations—no smartphones until high school (we’ll likely push it post-high-school), no social media until 16 (we’ll likely push the age up to 18).

But it’d be absurd to tell my kids “no smoking” in between long drags of a cigarette. “You can’t be on social media” while scrolling my own social media feed would reap similar results, falling on deaf ears for sure and likely met with defiant resistance.

I don’t exactly what we’ll do or how we’ll do it. But we’ll do something. I’m here on Substack, in part, as a small step toward “doing something.” Because if my kids asked me if they could start a Substack to start writing and reading, slower and deeper than they typically would on other social media platforms, I’d encourage it.

So, if you want to go a bit slower and a bit deeper too, let’s go together. Cheers.

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