Unknown Followerships

Very recently, a friend I only know for a short time, told me that he reads my Substack. It was a simple comment, almost casual, but it stayed with me long after the conversation had moved on. Not because I have a huge audience. I don’t. Not because the blog is wildly successful. It isn’t. What stayed with me was the reminder that there are actual people on the other side of the screen. When I write, I usually write alone. I sit at my computer, follow a thought, rewrite a sentence a few times, and eventually press “Publish”. Then the post disappears into the internet. Sometimes a few people like it. Sometimes nobody reacts at all. Most of the time, writing online feels a little like sending a message into a vast ocean and never knowing where it ends up.

The strange thing about publishing online is that you know people are reading, but you rarely know who they are. The statistics tell you that someone opened the email. The numbers tell you that someone clicked on the post. But numbers don’t feel like people. They don’t have faces, voices or stories attached to them. Then someone suddenly says, “I read your Substack,” and everything changes. Those numbers become a person. A real human being who spent a few minutes with your thoughts. Someone who was curious enough to read what you had to say. I think many writers experience this disconnect. We imagine an audience, but we rarely meet it. Most readers remain invisible. They subscribe quietly, read quietly and continue with their day without leaving a trace.

There is something beautiful about that. We often think that impact has to be visible. A comment, a message, a share, a conversation. But perhaps much of the impact we have on each other is completely silent. Maybe someone reads a post while drinking their morning coffee. Maybe a sentence stays with them for a few days. Maybe they think about it during a walk or mention it to a friend. Maybe it changes nothing at all, except that for a brief moment they felt understood. The truth is that we rarely know. As writers, we often know far less about our readers than our readers know about us.

For me, that conversation was encouraging. It reminded me that writing is not just sending words into a void. There are people on the other side. Some are friends. Some are strangers. Some may never comment, never reply and never introduce themselves. Yet they are there. And somehow, knowing that gave me courage. Courage to keep writing. Courage to keep sharing unfinished thoughts, strange ideas and small observations that might otherwise stay inside my head. Because every now and then, one of those invisible readers becomes visible. And when that happens, it feels like a small gift. So if you are reading this, whether we’ve met or not, thank you. You may be part of an unknown followership, but knowing that you’re out there means more than you probably realise.