The Great Interim: Navigating Digital Disillusionment in Search of Meaning
Too much of a good thing is a bad thing.
In Today’s Bento Box (so that you can read or go for a leisurely walk instead!)
The No Man’s Land of the internet
How overstimulation messed up our lives
How to recover some of the lost joy
In the early days of the internet, logging on felt like arriving at the world's most fascinating cocktail party.
Interesting people from all corners of the globe gathered to share ideas, debate philosophies, and forge unexpected connections.
The digital landscape pulsed with potential, offering a glimpse of a future where knowledge flowed freely and distance was no barrier to human interaction.
Fast forward to today, and that once-vibrant party has morphed into something altogether different.
The internet has become more of a rave party, where the music never stops and we are too tired to keep on dancing.
Then, a strange quiet has settled over the digital landscape. The noise it still there, it’s just that we’ve turned deaf.
Some partygoers have quietly slipped out the back door, disillusioned and exhausted.
Others, deeply hooked by the digital addiction, find themselves unable to step away.
Many of us exist in a limbo, caught between the nostalgia for what once was and uncertainty about what comes next.
We're all asking ourselves the same question: Should I stay, or should I go?
How did we get here? And more importantly, where do we go from here?
The simple answer is that our digital landscape has changed dramatically, but our mental bandwidth hasn't kept pace.
We're faced with a tsunami of information, and our only solution is to skim the surface, perpetually glancing and scrolling. This constant state of shallow engagement has left us mentally exhausted and emotionally drained.
We've adapted to survive, but at what cost?
"We are drowning in information, while starving for wisdom." - E.O. Wilson
We've been burned too many times by clickbait headlines and hollow content.
The naïveté and enthusiasm that characterized our early forays into cyberspace have given way to a jaded wariness.
If we anthropomorphize the internet, it's as if that eager, hopeful teenager full of dreams has grown into a jaded adult, bruised by the harsh realities of life.
It's not that quality content no longer exists online—quite the contrary.
There's more excellent material available than ever before. The problem is that it's buried under a flood of mediocrity, and we're too drained to keep digging.
We find ourselves in what I call "The Great Interim"—a period where the old ways of engaging online no longer satisfy, but a new paradigm has yet to emerge. The age of Content Creation is waning, but the era of thoughtful Content Curation hasn't quite materialized.
The traditional gatekeepers of information—the so-called "legacy media"—have largely been bypassed, democratizing access to publishing platforms. While this shift has brought many positives, it has also placed the burden of filtering onto us.
However, it's also shifted the burden of filtering onto us, the consumers.
But there are glimmers of hope on the horizon. As growth hackers and attention merchants begin to abandon ship, the waters may eventually settle and become clearer. But for many of us, this clarity may arrive too late.
We're exhausted, both mentally and emotionally.
Even the simple act of hitting the "like" button feels like too much of a commitment. We keep scrolling, searching for something to rekindle that spark of connection and wonder we once felt, but our minds barely registering the content flashing before our eyes.
This digital fatigue is a shared experience, one that I've observed in myself and countless others. We long for the connections and genuine exchanges that once seemed so abundant online.
Many of us have attempted to bring back that earlier magic—posting feverishly for a time, only to hit invisible wall of algorithmic indifference.
Some take extended breaks from social media, while others return with renewed enthusiasm, only to discover that there's no going back to the digital Eden.
But let's be clear: our current misery isn't solely the fault of cruel algorithms. It's about reaching a saturation point with the constant snippets of other people's lives, their "life hacks," and their recycled ideas.
We're drowning in a sea of secondhand information, much of it decoupled from any real-life experience or deeper understanding.
Many of us feel digitally homeless.
The methods that once helped us navigate this space no longer serve us, but we haven't yet developed new tools or strategies to take their place.
So where do we go from here?
The path forward isn't clear, but it will undoubtedly require deep introspection and a willingness to reshape our relationship with the digital world. We have a monumental task of learning, unlearning, and relearning ahead of us.
We need to rethink how to engage with our digital world in a way that feeds us rather than depletes us.
For now, the most productive step might be to step back.
To slow down, to go for a walk without our phones, to sit in quiet contemplation.
We need to create space in our lives to rediscover what truly brings us joy and meaning.
We need to remember how to forge real connections, both online and off.
In our quest for constant stimulation, we've paradoxically numbed ourselves to genuine excitement and wonder.
"What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention."
- Herbert Simon
The overstimulation of our hyper-connected world is taking a toll on our ability to find joy and purpose. We're experiencing a collective anhedonia—a struggle to feel pleasure or excitement in a world that constantly demands our attention.
We've exceeded our Dunbar number—the cognitive limit to the number of people with whom we can maintain stable social relationships—by orders of magnitude, leaving us emotionally overextended and psychologically drained.
As we navigate this Great Interim, we must remember that it's okay to feel disillusioned. It's a natural response to the shifting digital landscape.
But it's also an opportunity to reassess, to curate our online experiences more intentionally, and to rediscover the joy of deep, meaningful connections—both online and off.
The internet party isn't over—it's just changing venues.
And in this moment of transition, we have the opportunity to shape the next phase of our digital evolution. Let's make it one that prioritizes depth over breadth, quality over quantity, and genuine connection over mindless engagement.
The future of our digital lives—and our mental well-being—depends on it.
If you want to understand more of what’s happening to our brains, here are my two fave books on the subject:
and
