It’s wild to me. The more “connected” we get, the more people seem marooned. How is that even possible.

When Proximity Meant Survival

Our ancestors didn’t have the luxury of pretending they didn’t need each other. You survived because you had a tribe. A few people close enough to hear you yell. Shared meals. Real eye contact. Bodies in the same place, doing life together.

Now we’ve got WiFi and somehow we’re lonelier. We “connect” in tiny pings and little red badges, then wonder why everything feels thin. We scroll past birthdays like they’re ads. “Happy bday!” and keep it moving, no call, no voice, nothing that costs even ten minutes of your day.

The Internet Gave Me a Voice, Then Taught Me to Perform

I’m not here to act like the internet is all poison. It handed me access. Ideas. People I never would’ve met. A way to put words somewhere other than my own head.

But it also trained me to perform. Post for likes. Comment for validation. Trim the rough edges so strangers don’t get uncomfortable. After a while you start wondering, half-serious, half-sick, if any of your thoughts are actually yours or if you’re just remixing whatever gets applause.

Connection Doesn’t Start with Signal Bars

So… are we really connected. Or are we just networked.

Real connection doesn’t happen because two phones are near each other. It starts when someone risks being seen. Vulnerability, the annoying word that still happens to be true. Sitting with somebody and not only being physically present, but emotionally present. The kind of presence where you can’t hide behind a meme or a quick reaction.

Listening like you mean it. Letting silence exist without racing to fill it. Showing up on the boring days, not just the highlight reel.

Some days I’d trade 100 notifications for one quiet moment with a person who actually sees me. Not my profile. Me.

Brainstream, Not a Performance

Brainstream is my attempt to connect like that. Not perfectly. Definitely not prettily. Just honestly.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’re trying too. Or maybe you’re tired of the digital confetti and you want something that feels real again. Either way, I’m glad you’re here.