I Logged Off and Started Loving Music Again

I Logged Off and Started Loving Music Again

Last week, after a lot of disruption, I deleted my personal social media.

I did not leave in a dramatic “I am leaving the internet forever” way. It was not because I stopped caring about music, artists, fandom, or the magazine I run. I deleted my accounts because all the noise was drowning out the songs. My process was simple but intentional: I made a list of all my personal accounts and asked myself whether each one added real value to my life or just created more stress. If it was mostly a source of distraction, comparison, or pressure, I deleted it. If it genuinely served a purpose, like staying connected with family, I kept it, but with tighter privacy settings. Now, the only personal account I have is a locked Facebook for family. Everything else is just for work, the magazine, or spaces that actually have a purpose. Honestly, logging off helped me fall back in love with music.

People often think that running a music magazine means you have to be online all the time. In some ways, that is true. You need to keep up with releases, announcements, tours, fan reactions, interviews, trends, and all the conversations about artists. I still handle the essential online work for the magazine, including updating social accounts, checking email, keeping up with industry news, and posting important updates. The difference is that I set boundaries for when and how I do it, so the necessary online work does not spill over into my off-time. By being more intentional with these tasks, I found a balance that lets me stay up to date and involved with our readers, without letting the noise take over.

For a while, I thought that meant I had to be chronically online. I believed I needed to see everything, know everything, write about everything, and keep up with whatever the internet was focused on that day. I thought being a good editor, writer, and fan meant always being connected.

But being online all the time can also make the thing you love feel heavy. Music turns into never-ending debates. Fandom feels like pressure. Your favourite artists get tied to arguments, opinions, rumours, screenshots, fan wars, and the sense that everyone is watching, judging, reacting, or waiting for you to say the right thing. And when that happens, even joy starts to feel like work.

I did not stop loving my favourite artists. I think I had just stopped hearing them clearly. The internet can make you feel like you have to react to everything. Every lyric needs a theory. Every photo needs an opinion. Every album rollout gets judged right away. Every fan space needs watching. Every disagreement appears urgent, even if it has nothing to do with your real life.

And suddenly, there was space again. In the past two days, I have visited a record store twice. Before that, it had been about a month since I last went. Small, but it did not feel small. It seemed like coming back to something important. Browsing records, looking at covers, holding music in my hands reminded me that being a fan is not only about staying updated online. Sometimes, it is about standing in a record store and letting yourself care again. I dropped the needle on my favourite album and actually listened. I did not listen while there was background noise, while scrolling, or while checking what everyone else thought. I just listened.

And somewhere within that quiet, I remembered what I had been missing. I found myself singing and dancing along to Spotify again. Not skipping every second song. Not feeling sad every time something reminded me of online noise. Not treating music like another thing to manage. Just listening. Just enjoying it. Just being a fan.

And the strangest part is that logging off did not make me less inspired. It made me more inspired. I worried that being offline would mean missing out on ideas. I thought if I was not watching every conversation as it happened, I would fall behind. But instead, I found more ideas better ones. They came from living, listening, thinking, visiting record stores, talking to people, spending time with family, and giving my mind enough quiet to connect things again. It came from talking to creative mates about ideas and from taking book recommendations and learning (Thanks Toyah)

Sometimes being extremely online does not make you more creative. It just makes you more reactive. You begin writing because of the pressure to follow what everyone else is talking about, instead of focusing on what you truly care about. You write to defend a friend; you repost an article when someone gets a song's meaning wrong; you write an article that indirectly discusses themes around last week's drama and headlines. You start creating just to keep up, not because something genuinely moves you. I remembered that I do not love music because of social media. I love music because of how it makes me feel.

I love the excitement before a release. I love the first listen. I love lyrics that stay with you. I love concert lights, shaky videos, friendship bracelets, fan projects, album eras, planning outfits, photo pits, emotional bridges, and how one song can become tied to a season of your life. I love the art.

And stepping away from personal social media helped me find that again. It also made me more creative. Instead of always reacting, I started thinking. Without scrolling through everyone else’s noise, I had space for my own ideas. Article ideas returned. Projects felt exciting again. The magazine came across less like something I had to defend online and more like something I could build.

Creativity needs space, quiet, and even boredom. It needs real conversations and life outside of apps. When your mind is crowded with everyone else’s opinions, there is not much space left for your own. You start creating out of stress rather than curiosity. You try to keep up instead of making things that matter to you. Deleting my personal social media reminded me that not every conversation needs access to me. Not every argument needs my energy. Not every opinion needs a response. Not every online space is healthy just because it is active. Not every fan space is good for your love of the artist.

You can be a fan without being online 24/7. You can run a music magazine without giving every part of yourself to social media. You can love artists deeply without turning that love into a public performance. Since logging off, I have had more time for friends and family. I have felt more present. I have been more creatively inspired. I have been able to separate my work from my actual life in a way I probably needed more than I realised.

And the strange thing is, I do not feel less connected to music. I feel more connected to it. Because now, when I press play, I am not carrying the whole timeline with me. I am not listening through other people’s drama, opinions, or expectations. I am just listening.

Maybe that is what I needed all along. A quieter life. A clearer head. A record store. A favourite album. This is a reminder that I loved the songs before I ever had a platform to talk about them. Logging off did not make me less of a fan. It made me remember why I became one.