Be Greater. [005]: Every Choice is a Vote

Everything you do, or don’t do, is a vote for the culture & world you want to live in.

If you spend enough time online, you’ll eventually notice a sentiment that keeps surfacing no matter what corner of the internet you’re in.

“2019 was the last normal year.” “2016 was the peak.” “Things made more sense in 2010.” “Everything feels too fast now.” “Nothing feels real anymore.”

The details change, but the feeling doesn’t.

And it’s not just coming from one group, one generation, or one political corner. It’s coming from everywhere. People who disagree about almost everything else somehow agree on this one thing: that something shifted, something got thinner, and we haven’t found our footing since.

I don’t think that feeling is wrong. I think it’s one of the most honest things people are saying right now.

But most responses to it are incomplete.

The answer is usually one of two things: a nostalgic retreat into whatever year felt better, or a helpless shrug at forces too big to fight. Go back or give up.

Neither of those is a plan.

How We Got Here

Culture didn’t get hollow because people got worse.

It drifted because incentives changed. Attention became the most valuable commodity on Earth. Platforms were built to capture as much of it as possible. Algorithms learned that outrage and anxiety kept people scrolling longer than beauty or depth. Content got optimized for retention. Art got optimized for virality. News got optimized for fear.

Nobody optimized for meaning.

And culture is downstream of incentives. When you change what gets rewarded, you change what gets made. When you change what gets made long enough, you change people.

Here’s why that matters:

If culture drifted because incentives changed, then culture can recover when incentives change back.

And who changes incentives?

People do. One decision at a time.

Every Choice Is a Vote

This is the part most cultural criticism skips because it’s uncomfortable.

We talk about algorithms like weather — something that happens to us, outside our control, impossible to fight. We talk about the decline of reading, the rise of outrage, the death of nuance as if these are natural disasters with no human cause and no human cure.

But algorithms don’t feed themselves.

Every time you click the outrage bait, you vote for more outrage bait. Every time you stream the forgettable sequel instead of paying for something original, you vote for more forgettable sequels. Every time you scroll past the long essay to watch the thirty second clip, you vote for a world with fewer long essays and more thirty second clips. Every time you participate in a public humiliation, pile on a stranger, share the drama — you are casting a vote for the culture you claim to hate.

And every time you don’t — every time you choose differently — you cast a different vote.

Buy the album. Read the book. Watch the film that took a real risk. Pay for the writing that made you think. Recommend something worth recommending. Have the long conversation. Sit at the dinner table without your phone. Go outside without documenting it. Finish something instead of sampling everything.

These aren’t small acts of personal virtue. They are cultural signals. They are votes. And votes accumulate.

The culture is not something that exists separate from the choices of the people inside it. The culture is the choices of the people inside it.

Which means the people inside it can change it.

That includes you, and that includes me.

What Getting Better Actually Looks Like

We have to be honest about something.

Culture is not going to snap back to whatever year felt better to you. The internet is not going away. The algorithm is not going to be shut off. The pace is not going to slow down on its own.

So, nostalgia isn’t the answer. Neither is waiting for a politician or a platform or a cultural moment to fix things.

What getting better actually looks like is quieter and slower and more personal than that.

It looks like a person deciding to read more than they scroll.

It looks like a family making the dinner table a phone-free zone.

It looks like a creator making something weird and honest instead of something optimized and safe.

It looks like a 21-year-old bringing a book to the All-Star Game and actually trying to win.

It looks like someone picking up trash they didn’t drop.

It looks like returning the shopping cart when nobody’s watching.

It looks like one person, in one moment, deciding that the current standard isn’t good enough and choosing something better.

That’s how every cultural shift in history actually happened. Not with a single dramatic turning point. With an accumulation. With enough people making enough small decisions in the same direction that the new standard started to feel normal. Until what used to be countercultural became just cultural. Until what used to be unusual became expected.

We’ve seen it before. We can see it again.

The Threshold

Cultural change doesn’t happen linearly. It doesn’t improve one percent every time someone makes a better choice. It works more like a threshold — things drift in one direction for a long time, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and then something tips. A critical mass is reached. The new normal becomes the actual normal.

We are living through a drift. Most people can feel it even if they can’t name it.

But here’s what I’ve noticed: the people who are tired of it are everywhere. They’re buying records again. They’re reading physical books. They’re hosting dinners without phones. They’re going outside without documenting it. Quietly, individually, without coordination or a hashtag or a movement name, they’re making different choices.

They just don’t know how many of them there are yet.

This newsletter exists because I believe we are approaching that threshold. Because I believe the people who care about depth and standards and genuine human connection and actual effort and leaving things better than they found them — those people are not a fringe.

They are a majority waiting to recognize itself.

And movements don’t start with everyone. They start with just enough.

What You Can Do Today

Not tomorrow. Not when things calm down. Not when the culture fixes itself.

Today.

Pick one thing the current culture is offering you that you know isn’t good enough. One scroll session that leaves you feeling worse. One piece of content you engage with even though it doesn’t deserve your attention. One convenience that’s costing you something you can’t quite name.

And choose differently. Once. Today.

Then do it again tomorrow.

That’s the whole plan. It doesn’t require a platform or an audience or a grand gesture. It just requires a decision. And then another decision. And then another.

Until it becomes a habit. And that habit becomes a lifestyle.

Culture doesn’t get better because someone fixes it from the outside.

It gets better when enough people decide to be greater from the inside.

The Beats wanted depth when the world offered comfort. The Hippies wanted peace when the world offered war. The Punks wanted truth when the world offered product.

And now?

We crave something real when the world is offering us everything easy and fast and optimized and nothing true.

That desire is enough, if we act on it.

The threshold is closer than it looks.

Log off, spread love, be greater.

— [gf]