Dear LinkedIn,
I think it’s over.
So, this post is going to be full of irony. Proper irony, that is, not the mistaken Alanis Morrisette kind. I’m owning that from the start because I don’t think it detracts from the end game. Here goes.
I was on LinkedIn for the 17th time yesterday as I experienced a slight lull in my diary. I couldn’t justify having yet another cup of tea and the dogs had already been out so, without really thinking (it’s always without really thinking, isn’t it?), I picked up my phone and opened the app. The usual rush hit as 16 notifications shone in red against that 🔔 – I clicked through and quickly scanned until I felt that familiar dip in my spirits: no new likes or comments on my latest posts, no direct mentions of me amongst those mean 16 little bells. Sigh. Then I switch to aimlessly scrolling. A post slides by about Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport, author of Deep Work. Someone has read the theory and decided to declutter their digital life. Within four clicks I’ve bought the book and a day later I’m two hours into listening to it (yes, yes, on my phone of course, oh, the irony blah blah blah).
The result is that I’m going to have a go at the Digital Declutter myself. Newport is at pains to explain that this is not a “detox” – one month off to have a break and then dive straight back in. It’s a 30-day clear-out that’s the first step towards a more autonomous and intentional approach to what digital tools you allow into your life and why. In a month’s time I’ll start reintroducing things, but only if they align with my values and goals and only in the dosage and manner that meets my needs.
As of 10 minutes ago I have:
- Switched off all notifications on my phone (email, WhatsApp and other pinging apps that distract me multiple times a day)
- Uninstalled all social media – including LinkedIn
- Made myself a set of rules about only doing home or other admin (shopping, banking etc) in my office during the day – NOT on my phone sitting on the sofa in the morning and evening
- I’ve even canceled my subscription to a meditation app, whose reminders and rewards got me doing daft things like playing a meditation while doing the washing up so that I didn’t lose my (now meaningless) 61-day streak.
I already have a hypothesis about what the “re-introduction” stage will mean for LinkedIn. The platform matters to me professionally – people need to know you exist before they can work with you. It’s been a decent way to raise awareness of the services I provide, to reconnect with old networks that yield fresh opportunities and to start new relationships. More than once, a client has found me through the thinking I share on LinkedIn – although interestingly there’s always some kind of prior connection: they knew me in the past or know someone who does. “Cold calls” leading to actual work are rare. So, I’m not walking out, but I’d like to stop hanging around here waiting hungrily for scraps that have very little bearing on the success of my business. Fun fact: I got six likes on my last LinkedIn Newsletter, probably my worst ever, and yet this has been my best (and busiest) year of coaching in the five years since I started. Hey ho.
I intend to follow the recommended Digital Minimalism process – a bit like the elimination diet I did recently that helped me identify that I should never ever eat broccoli again. But I suspect that the result will be that I’m done with playing the LinkedIn slot machine. I’ll still be writing, and I’ll post links here so that the hundreds of subscribers I have can engage with the ideas and suggestions on leadership that I share. And of course, I’m under no illusion about how my lack of scrolling and posting and “liking” will affect what the algorithm does with my stuff ⚰️. That’s a price worth paying for the hours of my life I’m looking forward to reclaiming from niggling disappointments and dispiriting comparisons.
So Dear LinkedIn, thanks for everything but I think it’s over. I’ll keep in touch and will always be grateful for the good times. But for now, I need some space – because really it’s not me, it’s you – and no, I don’t think we can still be friends.
