Wheels On Down the Road

Tag: Reflection

  • When Social Media Was Different

    When Social Media Was Different

    Social media has changed, and not for the better.

    With everything going on in the world right now, I have been thinking a lot about social media. I have been reflecting on what it was meant to be and what it has become..

    What It Was

    I joined Facebook in 2005. Back then, it served a clear purpose. It helped people stay connected as life pulled them in different directions. You shared photos, updates, and small moments without turning every post into a declaration or a fight.

    As more people I knew joined, it worked even better. Friends, family, coworkers. It did what it promised.

    When pages were introduced, it felt like real progress. People shared lived experiences and built community. I follow pages related to autism, type one diabetes, and hearing loss. I have learned about conditions like Sanfilippo syndrome from families living it every day.

    That kind of sharing still matters. It educates, builds awareness, and creates connection. It is one of the few reasons I have not walked away entirely.

    When Thoughtfulness Slipped

    Somewhere along the way, thoughtfulness started to fade.

    Social media began rewarding quick reactions instead of reflection. If you feel something, you post it. If you disagree, you respond immediately, often without pause.

    Context is lost. Curiosity disappears.

    I am not immune to this. I have reacted in the moment and regretted it later. Words still have consequences, even online.

    Or at least, they should.

    Too often now, restraint is missing. The screen creates distance, and with it, a loss of basic courtesy. In a world already tense and divided, that lack of care only deepens the divide.

    Outrage moves faster than understanding. Certainty is amplified. Nuance struggles to survive.

    Choosing Silence Intentionally

    I have learned to keep many of my thoughts to myself, especially around current events or politics. When I do post, it is usually to highlight something meaningful within the disability community.

    I stay quiet not because I lack opinions, but because thoughtful positions rarely translate well online. Context gets flattened. Intent gets misread. Careful words are easily twisted.

    The people who know me understand this. Online, that understanding is often absent.

    And that choice comes with trade-offs.

    What I Miss

    I still enjoy seeing what friends, family, and community members are doing. I value sharing my own experiences, both big and small.

    I care about talking honestly about life with a disability, navigating a city, and living with a service dog. I believe education and visibility matter.

    It has simply become harder to show up thoughtfully in spaces that prioritize speed over substance and reaction over care.

    The Silo Problem

    More and more, people are retreating into smaller circles. They unfriend. They block. They remove anyone who does not align perfectly with their views.

    I understand the impulse. No one wants to be attacked or misunderstood. But when self-protection turns into isolation, something important is lost.

    Removing all disagreement does not build community. It creates an echo chamber.

    This Was Not the Promise

    Social media was meant to bring people together. It was supposed to help us stay connected across distance, difference, and time.

    Instead, it often encourages labeling and dismissal. Disagreement is treated as hostility. Curiosity is mistaken for weakness.

    Moving Forward

    Lately, I have been seriously reconsidering my place on social media.

    I will keep my accounts active for practical reasons. Messaging still has value. I will continue posting occasionally in specific spaces. Beyond that, I am becoming more selective.

    Social media can still connect and educate. You must be willing to sift through noise, anger, and impulse. This is how you find what truly matters.

    I mute freely. I unfollow without guilt. I post less, not because I have less to say, but because careful words deserve better conditions than this.

    I once believed social media would bring us closer together. Watching it push people further apart has clarified something for me.

    For now, stepping back feels less like giving up and more like choosing a healthier distance.

  • The Name Between the Lines

    The Name Between the Lines

    Becoming Myself, One Letter at a Time

    There’s a strange gravity in a name.

    It’s the first thing we’re given, often before we take our first breath. Names come with stories, family histories, hopes, even inside jokes. They can be reminders of who we come from, or quiet promises of who someone hoped we’d become.

    Sometimes, we grow into them. Sometimes, we grow around them. And sometimes, if we’re really lucky, we realize we need a name that fits where we’ve been. If we’re really brave, we choose a name that fits where we’re going.

    That’s what this post is about.

    I’ve always liked my middle name.

    Allen. It’s simple, unassuming, it’s always felt right. It carries a softness, a steadiness that felt like home.

    It’s not loud or dramatic. Allen felt like a foundation, something I can rest on. And in ways I couldn’t fully name at the time, it felt like me.

    I’ve realized something interesting. I’m not the only one in my family who felt this pull toward a middle name. My grandpa Garfield was not actually born Garfield at all. His given name was Oscar Garfield Dokken.

    From what I’ve pieced together in conversations with family, he chose to go by Garfield. He already had an uncle named Oscar and probably did not want the two of them to be confused.

    That makes perfect sense. When I was a kid, I had a friend named Levi. When our families got together, there were two Levis in the same space. Every time someone called out “Levi,” there was that moment of uncertainty: which one? Looking back, I think that would’ve been a perfect time for me to lean into Allen.

    Maybe Grandpa understood something I’m only just beginning to. Sometimes a name is about more than identity. It’s about clarity, belonging, and creating space for yourself.

    That’s how I landed on Alyn. I know it’s a different spelling from my true middle name. Then again, I am a little different, so my name should be too.

    It’s not a world apart from who I’ve been it’s just… closer to who I am. A little softer around the edges. A little more neutral, a little more fluid. It’s Allen with a twist. It lets me breathe.

    I haven’t decided yet if I’ll change it legally. For now, this isn’t about paperwork or government forms it’s about alignment. About answering to something that feels a little more like me. About hearing a name and not flinching because it doesn’t quite match the reflection I see in my mind.

    Of course, it’s not that simple.

    Names carry meaning, not just for us, but for the people who gave them to us. For family, it isn’t just a label it’s something they chose with care. It could be tied to memory, a legacy and love.

    I understand that. I honor that. Part of me worries that in choosing something new, I’ll seem ungrateful, or like I’m rejecting something sacred.

    But here’s what I want those people to know: I’m not erasing anything. I’m not undoing the name I was given. I’m just building on it. Adding a chapter. Letting myself evolve.

    I’m still me. Still your kid. Still your friend. Still your cousin, your sibling, your grandchild. Just… more me-shaped now.

    Trying on Allyn, Becoming Alyn

    I started experimenting with a small change spelling Allen with a y. “Allyn.” It looked different, felt different. Like trying on a jacket that just fits better.

    At first, it was just between me and my therapist, then a small circle of friends. The more I used it, the more it felt like breathing freely.

    Later, I tried another variation: Alyn.

    I started using it with the same small group of friends. It became a place where I could test the waters. I could hear “Alyn” out loud or in text. I felt how it settled into my bones.

    Now, I’m taking that step into the light with this name. Like coming out in the LGBTQIA+ community, this takes a great amount of courage. To come out in this way, in a public setting, takes an even greater amount of courage.

    Some people will adjust quickly. Some might need time. And that’s okay. I’m still getting used to it too. Every time someone uses it, it feels like a little internal click, a quiet “yes.”

    And when people still call me Levi, I understand. That name still holds truth, too. This isn’t about perfection. It’s about becoming.

    When the Name Comes Out Before You Do

    Like I said earlier, I was only sharing it with a small group of people. I was changing it on my streaming platform profiles seeing how it looked to me. I wasn’t ready to share it beyond my small circle just yet. Then, about a few days ago, that changed.

    I recently made a small change on my iPhone. I updated my contact information to show the name I’d been trying on. What I didn’t realize was that Apple shares those changes with anyone in my contacts who also has an iPhone. Suddenly, my new name was in front of friends and family I hadn’t told yet.

    The questions came quickly: “Who’s Alyn?”

    In that instant, I was outed in a way I hadn’t planned. But maybe that’s the thing about names — sometimes they refuse to stay hidden. Sometimes they insist on being seen, even before we’re ready. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe a name knows the right time better than we do.

    A Name Doesn’t Have to Be Legal to Be Real

    There’s this idea that identity only counts when it comes with documentation. That it only matters once you’ve filled out a form, paid a fee, stood in line. But I don’t believe that.

    My name is real the moment I say, “this is what I want to be called.”

    It’s real the first time someone uses it gently. The first time someone says, “Hi Alyn.” The first time I say it in the mirror and smile.

    There’s power in naming yourself. Quiet, grounded, liberating power. And you don’t need permission to do it.

    If You’re Struggling With This…It’s Okay

    If you’re reading this and feeling a little unsettled, I see you. Maybe you’re someone who’s known me as Levi for a long time. Maybe you’re trying to make sense of how this fits with the person you thought you knew.

    I am still the person you know. I haven’t changed all that much from the person I was the last time we talked. I am just finally deciding how best to live my true authentic self.

    You don’t have to get it all at once. You don’t have to understand everything to respect it. You don’t have to stop loving who I was to also love who I’m becoming.

    Just keep showing up. Keep asking if you have questions. If you call me Levi, I won’t get upset. I’ll just gently remind you if you forget.

    For Me, For Now

    I don’t know exactly what’s ahead. Maybe I’ll legally change it someday like grandpa Garfield did. Then again maybe I won’t.

    What I do know is this: I get to choose. I get to be honest. And I get to love myself enough to ask for something that fits.

    So…hi. I’m Alyn.

    It’s nice to meet you (again).

  • Writing What Moves Me

    Writing What Moves Me

    This was supposed to be just a Facebook post…

    I didn’t plan on writing this post.

    It started as a quiet, reflective moment. You realize just how much you’ve been writing lately. You start wondering why. Not just why you write, but why certain things strike that spark in the first place. Lately, it’s been the little things: a headline, a thought, an unexpected experience.

    Sometimes it’s something I’ve been chewing on for a while. Sometimes, it’s something that hits me in the moment. Either way, it always starts with curiosity and ends with a need to put it into words.

    From Flags to Elevators: Finding Meaning in the Everyday

    Last weekend, I read an article in the Star Tribune. It was about how some Minnesota cities are choosing not to fly the new state flag. That small decision triggered a lot of big questions for me: Why this flag? Why now? And why are local governments opting out? That led me to explore Minnesota’s flag history. More importantly, it prompted me to consider what symbols truly mean to the communities they are meant to represent.

     Flying Forward: Let’s Talk About the Flag Controversy

    During the same reading session, I came across another article. This one was about Elon Musk floating the idea of starting a third political party. Will he actually do it? I doubt it. But it opened up a much more interesting rabbit hole: what could a serious third party mean for the U.S.? Have we really been a two-party country forever? (Spoiler: not exactly.) I knew it wasn’t the post designed for clicks, but I wrote it anyway. Because it made me think.

    Not a Fan, Like the Plan

    Then came something a lot more personal. Jason got stuck in our apartment building elevator. In the basement. No way to get out. No easy way to communicate. That moment shook me, and not just because of the immediate concern for the person I love. I realized how fragile safety is when systems fail. It is easy for someone to be literally and metaphorically trapped without a voice.

    Trapped Without a Voice

    Time, Connection, and the Quiet Things

    A few days later, it hit me that the week was already flying by. I blinked, and it was suddenly Friday. When I was younger, time felt like it moved through molasses. These days, it barrels ahead like it’s trying to break a land speed record. It’s unsettling. But also a reminder: if we don’t stop and notice our days, we miss them completely.

    The Speed of Time

    And then there was my neighbor, John. I hadn’t seen him in a while, but I’d been thinking about him just the day before. He’s in his nineties. He is still sharp. He still tinkers with classic cars. He still carries that calm, measured way that reminds me so much of my grandfather. There’s a quiet connection there, the kind you can’t explain but feel all the same. It reminded me how relationships, even the subtle ones, shape us.

    A Quiet Reminder

    So… Why Do I Write?

    Because I need to.

    Not for clicks. Not for likes. Not to chase trends. I write because something stirs in me. The only way I know how to make sense of it is by turning it into a story. A question. A shared moment.

    I write to reflect. To connect. To offer something real.

    If even one person reads what I’ve written and feels seen, my purpose is fulfilled. If they become curious or feel a little less alone, I’ve accomplished what I came here to do.

    What about you?

    What little things have made you stop and think lately? What everyday moments have sparked something deeper?

    I’d love to hear.