I've recently taken to writing down my thoughts in a little paper notebook before posting them to Twitter or Mastodon. A6 pages are just the right size, and it forces me to think hard before blurting out my thoughts online, possibly hurting someone. Hadn't realized what a special thing it was until someone snarkily replied to my suggestion that long-form blogging is due for a comeback by asking, "why not go back to hand-written letters while we're at it?"
Speaking of which: it's essentially impossible to post something on the Diaspora network without getting at least one snarky or angry reply. Sometimes entire flamewars in the comments, that you can only watch helplessly, unless you delete your original post altogether. Turing forbid you actually try to defend or clarify your position, or otherwise interact with the oh-so-smart techie brodudes you've just riled up. It happens elsewhere, too, but only in that particular online neighborhood does it seem to be the norm.
In 2018, giving yourself some time to consider your next words is a radical act.
Let's do it, then. Let's show people what it was like before the tweetstorm had replaced taking the time to formulate a coherent discourse. I'm not talking academic levels of intellectual rigor. Just a modicum of consideration. For your audience. For your ideas. For yourself.
Amazing what difference it makes when you have a literal filter. Handwriting is more laborious, and serves as a first draft, too. And if you notice your draft swelling beyond tweet size, you know it's time to hunker down and write a proper blog post. Don't have a blog? Use a pastebin, and post just the link on social media. Better yet, do yourself a favor and get a proper home on the web. One people can choose when to visit, instead of hearing you trumpet over the rooftops, whether they feel like it or not at the moment.
You don't have to turn off your smartphone. You don't have to give up immediacy. You won't die of boredom if your gratification is a little less than instant.
The internet wants you to be a Pinocchio on Pleasure Island. You know how that ends.