Gathering Eyeballs

How do you measure success?

I’ve been assessing things backwards these days instead of plunging head first. Slices of my life have gone by in wasted years feeling like a failure, as if something inside me was slightly off what a panel of invisible critics were hoping. But when I explore what success would actually look like if I allow myself to arrive there, it’s different than I expected.

Me, toiling in the shadows

It’s not money or fame I crave, though both might be nice. Also terrifying. No, something else keeps me going. My deep dive pulled up an evidence-defying confidence buried beneath my neuroses. Writing these heartfelt essays helped explain myself to myself and the people I love the most, because getting my point across IRL (in real life) isn’t easy. These essays turned out surprisingly honest and unintentionally wise—a spark of myself that might lead someone else to seek their own.

After being silently desperate to be seen for decades, I decided to try it and posted. 

The response was immediate and wonderful. People emailed and called with appreciation more validating than even the secret parts of me imagined. The love I received was exactly what some shrink ordered over thirty years ago.

I’m not above laying my heart on the line. Both my family of origin and my created one make a sport of teasing out weakness and laughing at them. I am a willing player—a thing that has enhanced my life as much as it has stymied it. Which is to say that I am uniquely set up to bullhorn my flaws, but not necessarily to toot my own horn.

That was the beginning. Then, last November, Substack plucked me out of oblivion by naming me a “Featured Publication.” It nearly tripled my readership in a week.

Once the original bump was over, I was left a steady group; not shedding many subscriptions but also not gaining too quickly anymore either.

My criteria reordered itself into the next level. What is the new equation? Validation = growth = success. Or some other way around? You see my problem.

“Why do you need more?” my son asked. “You have a loyal group of followers.”

Because, in order to feel justified in my right to be here, on this planet right now, before the ChatGBT takes over, I must convince more and more people to appreciate not only my beautifully articulate verse, but also my growth and networking prowess. At least that’s what the YouTube tutorials say. And also capitalism.

I went back to the goal. Is it realistic to constantly, exponentially build a readership? What number is success? A thousand more? Ten?

When I look at it honestly, without judgment, the steady success of the Kate Chronicles is in this tortured practice of showing, not telling. I will let you in on a secret. I’d be a lousy influencer. I’m too indecisive. I can’t even figure out what’s for dinner, let alone post 10 times a day. No product placement here. I promise. For now.

I read things all the way through the way they used to before you had 1,000 other things vying for clickable attention. My mother read the New York Times like it was primitive social media. When she found an article, she’d slice it out and snail mail it to the person she thought would be the most interested. Posting online is much easier. Also, safer on the fingers.

Every time one of you reaches out just to say you enjoyed, or understood, or even didn’t, it feels like the biggest hug. No stamp necessary. When you, my dear readers, share one of my stories and it results in a new subscriber, it is better than a warm, soft kiss. One I come back for week after week.

There is no price for entry here. Time is precious and free time unachievable. After all, one only has so many eyeballs. Many of you email, text or tell me in person you look forward to the Kate Chronicles, its honesty and humor. I appreciate that you love me. Please won’t you “like” me too?