No More “You Had to Be There”

When I first brought my writing over to Substack, I fell right back into old habits—firing off personal, off-the-cuff posts every day, assuming everyone was keeping up. That casual, in-the-moment style has its own charm. It carries that sense of being fully present together, right now, riding the same wave. It felt easy, intimate—even kind of fun, as if we shared a subtle understanding that didn’t need explaining.

But there’s a trade-off. Without the context of yesterday’s note or last week’s brilliant tangent, those posts don’t hold up as well. They turn into puzzle pieces missing a few corners, fragments of a conversation you had to have been there for. Old emails that hinged on something I said three days ago now feel incomplete if read on their own. Instagram posts that once sparked reactions are just buried relics, meaningless outside their original timeframe. That might have been fine when I cared only about immediate impact, but I’m starting to want more: something that still clicks if a reader shows up next month or next year, having no clue what came before.

I’ve also noticed something else: making each post stand on its own seems to be improving my writing. If I can’t lean on yesterday’s setup, I have to be clear, well-structured, and complete every time. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel restrictive—it’s freeing. Now I can drop a new idea into a post without worrying that someone’s scratching their head, thinking they needed to read something else first.

Looking back at these newer posts, I’m happier with them. They don’t depend on yesterday’s notes to make sense. I’m not rereading and thinking, “This needed more background.” Instead, they stand on their own. They’re not partial thoughts or placeholders—they’re finished work. And that feels good.

I’m not tossing out the casual, in-the-moment style entirely. Some posts will still be immediate and personal—tied to what’s happening right this second. Others will be built to hold their own, no matter when you find them. I’m hoping this blend means I’m not just leaving behind a line of short-lived notes. I want writing I can still be proud of tomorrow, and the day after that. Or, you know, whenever you finally wander in—I’ll leave the light on.