
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a geek—always interested in technical things. This has also meant that I’ve felt very alone, but it’s gotten better as I've grown older.

When I was in primary school, I would build all kinds of mechanical contraptions. Cableways between beds. Large Lego towers. Robots. By no means was I good at it, but I kept trying until I at least partially succeeded.

Meanwhile, my peers were playing different kinds of video games, Pokémon, or football. They followed the performances on Eurovision, talking about their bets and the scores of different countries. No one seemed to be doing what I did.

Then one day at school, we had an electronics workshop. We were supposed to turn on a light bulb using three components: a cable, battery, and a bulb. The key here was to create a closed circuit that lets electrons flow through each component.

Since I had already done this at home, I completed the task in seconds. Meanwhile, my peers struggled with the task for several minutes. To be very clear, I don’t blame them. You see, **I had spent a similar amount of time solving the same problem myself at home, long before.** I was already familiar with the problem space and comfortable with electronics.

But, this event changed how a lot of my classmates saw me. Suddenly, I was the "smart" kid. This attention was nice at first because who doesn't want to be called smart, right? Since I was “smart”, I should also know what 9×13 is, right? Spoiler: I didn't, I was terrible at math. And how was it possible that I also didn't know all the winners in Eurovision? The list goes on and on—so many things the “smart” kid didn’t actually know. The label proved to be inaccurate and everyone moved on.

This puzzled me. In my own mind, I was hardly smart at all. I had simply spent all the time they spent on what they liked (like football) on things I liked, like electronics.

So if I’m _not_ “smart”, then what? I prefer “experienced”. Being interested in a niche problem space all my life made me experienced, not smart. I consider someone smart if they're able to solve a novel problem in some area they are not familiar with.

Still, there are situations where I’ve thought someone did something really smart. But even there, it’s useful to consider that you don’t know what they’re experienced in. It reminds me of the word “Sonder,” described by [The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows](https://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/) as the following:

> n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed …

The next time you're impressed by the abilities of someone, you might be even more amazed to consider what it took to get there.


On Smartness


The following is a story I've been thinking about writing for years. Both as a cautionary tale to anyone getting into photography and an explanation to why I stopped. I've been scared to share this, but here we go.

# Beginnings

Starting from when I was very young, I've had a fascination with photography. I wasn't any good at all at the start. Despite knowing that, I took photos of everything that caught my eye. I distinctly remember it as something fun. After getting my own camera on a birthday I took even more photos.

Sometime after that. I made an Instagram account. At first, it was private and only a few friends saw what I posted. Reach was limited. I didn't know it then but that was the start of the end.

# Metrics

When I got older, I made my account public. Going public meant that my posts and profile were visible to anyone. I'd liked the feeling of getting positive feedback when my account was private, but now anyone could.

This is also when I started using hashtags. Now my pictures would show up on things like #naturephotography. Suddenly I started gaining likes and followers from strangers. At first, it felt really good. When you start getting used to this, your brain gives you a dopamine kick.

The thing is that it fades as you aim higher. Did the latest post get fewer likes than the last few? The photo must be worse. I started thinking more about how to make sure that I was growing my metrics than actually enjoying taking photos.

# Gaming the algorithm

Now set on getting more: more likes, more followers, more comments, I found ways to artificially improve my metrics. Here are a few I found.

1. Optimizing hashtags. I looked at popular posts on general hashtags such as #nature to find what other hashtags they used and crafted a set for each post. I even looked at hashtag generator sites.
2. Posting at certain times. Depending on the dominant geographical areas of my followers, I would post on times where I thought they would look at Instagram (lunch for example) and post accordingly.
3. Faking interest. I would look at recent posts on a hashtag, like some posts, and also go into each of their profiles and like some more posts. That increased the possibility that they'd look at my profile and follow me.

Looking back on these tactics now, they seem desperate and very unhealthy. I even have memories of getting a sore thumb from repetitively using my phone in the same way.

# Result

After doing the previous for a long time and getting up to around 700 followers, I slowly realized that the situation was hurting my mental health.

In March 2017, I stopped. By then, the thought of taking a photo involved how I thought it would perform before even clicking the shutter. By then, I couldn't take a photo even if I said to myself that I wouldn't post it.

# Solution (in progress)

I haven't posted anything on Instagram since then. I'd still like to get back to taking and showing some people photos, but I'm still working on the best way to do this. For now, I capture interesting things with my phone when I see them, which reduces friction a lot. Some of these go on my Unsplash, but I'm still looking for the right place.


I'm Alvar Lagerlöf

A developer and designer. My story starts with a $2 computer from a flea market. Learn more →

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