I had dinner recently with someone I’ve known for a year. Our conversations have mainly been about aviation because he’s a pilot. But this time, through a small detail in a story he was telling, I noticed he knew a lot about women’s makeup.

I asked why.

“I used to work as an undertaker and had to put makeup on deceased people,” he said.

He said he is hesitant about bringing up his past job because death makes people uncomfortable. I asked if he felt uncomfortable talking about it. He said no and, to the contrary, he would love to share his experiences and reflections, if I was interested.

I was, and it ended up being one of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had.

It made me realize we often filter what we say based on who we’re used to talking to. Most of our feedback “IRL” comes from friends, family, and coworkers. We get trained into feedback loops that quietly tell us which parts of ourselves are worth sharing.

But the Internet is a magical gamechanger. Somewhere out there, someone is obsessed with the same thing you are. You just have to give them something to find.

I’ve only been actively casting on Farcaster for one month. At first, I thought I’d write a practical post for newcomers like me about channels. But Farcaster evolves too fast for a post like that to stay useful long-term. And channels aren’t really what bring me here daily.

It’s easy to direct criticism at infrastructure, especially since the team building Farcaster actually listens. But what will really bring in the next wave of users is consistently interesting content. That responsibility falls on all of us.

I sometimes see casts along the lines of “why is no one seeing me?” or “are you guys ignoring me?” When I click on these profiles, their recent casts tend to be echoes of the same frustration. In rare cases, their invisibility is a glitch. But the harsh truth is that, even after scrolling these profiles, I often still have no idea who the person is, what they care about, or why I should care about them.

After burning out on algorithmic feeds in Web 2.0 social media, I’ve stopped feeling like I owe anyone my attention online. If I engage, it’s because I want to. I want my feed to reflect my genuine interests, not other people's demands on my attention.

One of the reasons I have chosen Farcaster as my new Internet home is the strong builder culture. It creates an experimental, generous atmosphere. Some of my favorite people to engage with are developers shipping mini apps in public. They ask for feedback. They iterate. They don’t assume everyone will love what they built the first time.

Those of us who are not developers are essentially content creators here, and we can learn a lot from the developer mindset. I see a lot of casts complaining about not getting engagement. I see far fewer asking, “Can you tell me why you aren’t interested in engaging with my casts?” One invites pity likes. The other invites genuine feedback.

You don’t need a huge audience to have a good time. My lowest-engagement casts have actually led to my favorite private conversations. I've found that some of the best responses come quietly. (Keep an eye on your DMs, including the Requests tab.)

I imagine my presence here like a book on a shelf. Every cast is a single line someone might randomly flip to while browsing in the Farcaster bookstore. When they do, what will they find? Will they want to keep reading?

Most people don’t know how to be interesting, even though everyone has something interesting to share. I think it often comes from self-doubt or fear of rejection. So people hide behind safe, generic content, then wonder why no one is interested.

Only one person on the planet has your exact combination of experiences, curiosities, connections, and tastes.

So write the casts you want to see in your feed. Keep showing up.

People out there are looking for someone like you. Give them time to find you. I hope when they finally do, you’ll have published many pages that only you can write.