What I’ve Grown to Love About Substack—A Quiet Thank You
It’s the People. That’s Why I Keep Showing Up.
I came to Substack to write. To think out loud. To finally put some of my thoughts down in one place and see if anyone else out there might be thinking similar things. I didn’t expect to find what I found. And I didn’t expect to value it this much.
It turns out, Substack is more than just a publishing platform. It’s a community. A place where voices gather. And that’s not nothing.
Here are some of the things I’ve grown to genuinely appreciate:
The conversations. I don’t just find people who think like I do. I find people who make me think differently, or more deeply. People who bring fresh insights to the table and offer generous, thoughtful feedback through comments and restacks. It feels like a conversation, not a performance.
Thoughtful writing, not just emotional noise. There’s always something new and genuinely interesting to read. And it’s not all angst, outrage, or reactive hot takes. Writers here take time with their thoughts, and readers seem to appreciate that. We tackle hard things with care, not chaos.
A sense of community. When so many platforms have forgotten how to build community, Substack still feels like a place where it can thrive. I really hope rapid growth doesn’t steamroll that. For now, it still feels possible to build something meaningful here—something human.
Shared interests, not just shared proximity. I love my real-life neighbours. But online, I’ve met people who care deeply about the same things I do—Canadian policy, food politics, media literacy, civic life. Substack has made those connections possible, and it matters.
Real engagement, not clickbait metrics. Conversations here unfold slowly, and that’s part of what makes them meaningful. People take the time to actually listen. Not just to react or perform. The comments, the restacks, even the quiet reads—they all carry weight.
Curated feeds, not algorithmic manipulation. I choose who I follow. I choose what I read. Substack doesn’t shove drama or doomscrolling into my feed. It trusts me to decide what matters, and that trust makes all the difference.
Cross-pollination instead of competition. There isn’t that sense of having to outdo one another. Writers lift each other up. Restacks aren’t just promotional; they’re generous. I love seeing voices I follow connect with one another, build on each other’s work, and share readers.
Room to grow. Here, I don’t feel rushed. There’s space for long thoughts, quiet reflection, unfinished ideas. And somehow, readers are not only okay with that—they’re drawn to it. That’s rare.
All of this is why I keep showing up. And why I hope more people keep showing up, too.
To those of you who have read, replied, shared, encouraged, challenged, and connected—thank you. Whether we agree on everything or not, the fact that we can share space and perspective like this? That’s worth holding onto.
Substack has become a kind of neighbourhood for me. And I'm grateful to be part of it.
The voices we gather around us shape the spaces we’re in. If this post made you think of someone else’s work or writing, pass it along. That’s how we keep this space rich.
If you’re reading this and feel the same way: What have you grown to appreciate most about being here? Drop it in the comments. I’d love to hear your version of this gratitude list.
All true. You’ve named the things I also cherish about this space. Thanks so much for your intelligent and very thoughtful contributions, which I look forward to with pleasure.