Why the schadenfreude, you might ask? Why do people seem to relish the misfortune of a platform going dark? Let me be clear: my respect for the engineers at Twitter is absolute. They’ve built an extraordinary real-time communications engine, and it’s a testament to their talent that it operates at the scale it does. The platform is powerful, resilient, and deeply complex.
But the human side of Twitter—the constant churn of takes, retweets, alerts, and reactions—can be exhausting. So when it suddenly stops, when the feed goes quiet and the timelines freeze, it feels like a snow day on the internet. An unexpected pause. A moment of stillness in the ever-churning flow of online discourse.
And honestly, I think we could all use that kind of break once in a while.
Yes, most people use Twitter by choice, and that’s a good thing. As an intentional hobby, it can be invaluable. Dipping into the stream offers a curated mix of breaking news, sharp humor, cultural commentary, and the occasional heartfelt connection. It’s a tool for networking, staying informed, or just passing time with purpose—if you’re mindful about what you follow and how you engage.
“Twitter is my rosary,” my word-hero Erin Kissane once said. That line has stayed with me. For many of us, the platform becomes a ritual—a structure of rhythm and reflection in the digital day. But even rituals benefit from interruption.
So the next time Twitter falters or flickers offline, don’t panic. Maybe treat it like a snow day. Step away. Breathe. Remember that the internet keeps spinning—and sometimes, silence is a gift.