People watching through Substack notes

the wonder of different lives

Recently, I’ve been trying to get back on Substack—to read more, write more, and meet people who inspire me. Over time, it’s become fairly obvious that Notes are the only real way to discover new voices and people. The only problem is—it’s overflowing. One scroll and you’ll find the professional busy bee, the everyday writer, the productivity guru, the life advice columnist, the thoughtful poet, the fairly-new author, and the “I just got published” writer. There’s really no end to it.

While I’d love to reach deeper into their work, all I seem to come across are the casual things they share on Notes—gossip about friends, recent wins, hot takes on something controversial, and so on. There’s so much noise pouring into the Notes section that I can hardly find the real literature anymore.

Last night was one of those evenings when I planned to take it easy—tea in hand, light reading, nothing demanding. But the moment I opened the app, it felt like walking into a crowded café on a busy London street, everyone mid-conversation about their lives. Someone was typing out a note about hating their job. Someone else shared a post about a lunch they organized. A 22-year-old vented about a cheating boyfriend. A 50-year-old was writing about restarting her life. It felt like I’d taken a seat right in the middle of all these overlapping lives, unfolding at once.

I’ve always wanted to sit on the benches of Washington Square Park and people-watch on a busy Monday morning—watch how fast they walk, how they take their coffee, whether they skip the muffin or take it to go. That’s exactly what Substack felt like last night. I could’ve gotten annoyed, sighed, and closed the app—and I almost did. But maybe it was the tea, or maybe I just wasn’t feeling as restless. I found myself leisurely scrolling through all these lives—heartbreaks and celebrations, little moments and big ones.

I gasped reading what Ashley’s ex had done. I smiled at Taylor’s note about her two-year-old daughter exploring the world. I laughed at Jerry’s coworker spilling coffee all over themselves. And I teared up reading about someone’s recent loss. Each flick of my finger across the glowing screen felt like slipping through different shades of life—phases I’d lived through, ones I hadn’t—and somehow, it all connected.

Sure, there were flickers of frustration when I realized I was just scrolling. But there were also moments of unexpected beauty.

I read about someone beating cancer, documenting their journey through diary entries and essays that brimmed with evocative writing. Their page taught me so much—about life, and about literature. I found Grace’s piece on the confusing feeling of being 22, and I was completely immersed in her stellar prose. That led me to the strange, foolish joy of finding someone with my name. Later, I came across Hannah’s note about her almost-finished book and the sticky, hot summer heat in London. All of it, somehow, wove together into something quietly extraordinary.

What struck me most was how easily I was pulled out of my own life by stepping into someone else’s. I couldn’t see them or touch them—but I learned something about them that maybe even their closest friends don’t know. Their fears, their doubts, the secrets they’re still scared to say out loud—I know them now. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I forgot about my own life. Strangely, that didn’t feel worrying. It felt like relief. A pause from the echo chamber of my own thoughts.

And then something even more unexpected happened—a shift. Reading about everyone’s courage made me feel a little stronger, a little more certain of myself. It also made me realize how heavy and pessimistic my thoughts had been lately, and how easy it is to lose sight of that. I’d been holding so much so close to my chest, I’d forgotten I could put some of it down.

I’m grateful for the people I found last night—their notes, their honesty, the things they chose to share. They helped me see the world a little differently.

That night, I went to bed feeling full. And purposeful.