I just finished writing my fourth book. I feel full of energy from releasing my work into the world—and at the same time, I feel empty. I’m in that famous “and now what?” moment. I don’t know where to go next, I don’t know what else to do. Writing gives me pleasure, joy, and fun. Writing on NOSTR and Stacker News feels like eating quail eggs with a peanut bar and then having a black coffee with no sugar. It’s that burst of energy you get from sharing words, debating, responding to others—going beyond what the algorithms tell you to do.

Because right now, I’m going through what I consider an algorithmic detox phase. Let me explain. I’ve deleted Facebook and X (formerly Twitter) from my phone, and TikTok is next. I’ve decided that if I want to check those networks, I’ll use my work tools and access them only through there.

At one point, I was spending around 18 hours a week on TikTok (just as an example)—what I consider my worst moment—and that seemed outrageous to me. The same goes for other social networks. So, I decided that this year I would start disappearing from them until my presence becomes merely symbolic, just for informational purposes. Unfortunately, I can’t leave entirely because I manage some Bitcoin-related groups on Facebook where I guide people who seek help. Plus, it’s the largest social network in my country—a major onboarding platform.

I’m not making excuses; it’s simply a reality I have to live with. So today, I feel anxious. I feel the urge to write something even though I have nothing to write. I feel the urge to watch stupid, random videos. Why? Because that’s how I’ve been trained for over ten years. And now, with platforms like SN and NOSTR, my body understands that I don’t need much anymore—that I’m overinformed, overstimulated, even when I want to write.

The reason for this emptiness can be explained like this: The algorithm of social networks has a specific purpose—to incentivize me to create content. Why? Because if my content is chosen, I get rewarded with likes, shares, reposts, and other partial hits of happiness. Once that’s over, I have to do it again—with posts like “Here are 90% of the things rich people never tell you” or “The secret to becoming a millionaire they don’t want you to know”—and countless other bits of nonsense that pile up.

Social networks invite you to post more and more in the name of freedom of expression, a concept they define on their own terms so they can sell ad packages behind your back. Today, my freedom of expression is in danger from this same algorithmic mob that imposes trending topics and wants me to keep up with the pace. My body wants to, but my mind suffers from the withdrawal—it’s an internal struggle.

But that’s actually a good thing. I know that abstaining from this is a Herculean task, and these words are my attempt to stay away from it. I’m writing this to say that it’s possible to quit, it’s possible to stay out, and it’s possible to stay sane by the end of the road.

Freedom has a price, and I recommend paying it.

Since I don’t know how to continue, I’ll leave it to you to decide what comes next.