Flashes in the Internet Sky: A Retrospective at 200 Posts

Marking 200 posts, I reflect on writing, mortality, retirement, and the quiet joy of inquiry in a world overflowing with words.

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect — Anaïs Nin

Arun Kumar

Summary: A contemplative reflection marking 200 posts, this essay explores writing as a practice of presence, adaptation, and inquiry. From evolution and mortality to retirement and pickleball, it traces a journey of thought shaped by time affluence, existential curiosity to keep asking deeper questions.

My first post on Medium was published on August 1, 2021, titled “I have something to say, would you be interested?” It emerged from a quiet contemplation: in an age of the internet and practically infinite content, how does one’s voice find its place? The web’s explosive growth has created a vast, ever-expanding universe of words — so wide that being found within it feels like a cosmically improbable event.

In that post, I questioned whether originality was still a prerequisite for resonance. Must every idea be new to matter? Or can recycled concepts, reframed, still strike a chord? I suggested that a blog post, like a supernova, does not need to be groundbreaking to illuminate. Its value lies in the moment it “flashes” into someone’s field of view — when its words, however familiar, feel freshly lit against the backdrop of their attention.

I concluded with a line that became my manifesto: “If the words [you write and post] flash through the right part of the internet sky that I look at, I am interested in what you have to say.” That sentence gave me permission not to be exceptional, but simply to write and offer my thoughts. And that was enough to begin. Since then, the journey has continued.

And today, on September 3rd, I mark my 200th post.

I am quite proud of having stayed the course — committed to posting at least once a week, with each article scheduled for Saturday at 10 a.m. Writing has become a steady companion, a definitive part of my portfolio of activities. It is self-sustaining, requiring no coordination with others, and as long as my cognitive faculties remain intact, it is something I can continue indefinitely (though, of course, there is the ultimate limit set by mortality).

Writing also serves as a kind of existential pivot. If physical pursuits like pickleball were ever to fall away due to injury or age, writing would remain — a durable backup, and perhaps even a primary engagement. It has given purpose and meaning to reading and deepened my commitment to continued learning.

Over the past year, the emergence of AI tools like ChatGPT and Copilot has made the learning process more fluid and accessible. They have become collaborators of sorts — sparring partners, sounding boards, and accelerants to thought.

Across these two hundred posts, a distinct cluster of themes has emerged, each orbiting the central questions of change, meaning, and the human condition. Evolution and the inevitability of biological emergence — natural selection, adaptation, and the architecture of the senses — have been recurring subjects, explored through the lenses of biology, psychology, and perception. Journaling has served as both method and mirror, capturing reflections on mortality, existential inquiry, and the transition into retirement. Philosophy threads through it all. sometimes solemn, sometimes playful. probing the contours of selfhood, time, and truth. Politics appears occasionally, reflecting what is currently going on. And humor, ever present, provides levity — a reminder that even amid meditative musings, the absurdity of life deserves its own space. Together, these themes trace a journey of change, aging, and the quiet passage of time.

At this stage of life, certain aspects of writing have become easier. I no longer feel tethered to metrics — likes, shares, or the need for fleeting validation. That said, I will admit: every now and then, a cue triggers a rush of dopamine, nudging me to check the stats. But that is okay. It is a gentle reminder that I am still human, still responsive to connection.

Being closer to mortality has also deepened my contemplative musing. Questions of existence, meaning, and impermanence arise more frequently now, offering fertile ground for exploration and meditative flight. Writing has become not just practice, but a way of channeling these reflections into a quiet dialogue with my finitude.

On the personal front, a significant transition unfolded between my 100th and 200th post: I retired. The preparation and intentional thinking that went into building a portfolio of engagements to ease that shift paid off. Retirement, often feared for its potential to become void, has instead offered a time affluence, a spaciousness I have put to effective use. It has not become the monster it could have been.

We also moved from Maryland to the South, into a 55+ community, and we were pleased with the choice. The environment suits us, and the rhythms of daily life feel more attuned. Pickleball has become a joyful pursuit, and I have grown quite good at it. In parallel, I have also begun posting some articles on LinkedIn, extending my reflections into new spaces and audiences.

In the years ahead, as I march toward my 300th post, the journey into meditative inquiry will persist. I will continue to find myself drawn to pondering our existence against the vastness of a universe perhaps absent of intrinsic meaning — tracing the cosmic journey woven from glowing stars and swirling galaxies, down through the improbable rise of self-replicating molecules and onward to the unfolding of life’s evolutionary path that brought forth you and me. My thoughts will meander through social norms, wondering how progress alters the very landscape in which natural selection operates — particularly when we seem to have broken through its guardrails. But perhaps it is a process that never truly ends, only the players in the arena of war of evolution change.

As I look to the future, I will continue to contemplate the trajectories humanity might follow if current patterns endure — all while quietly observing and building stories about everyday moments and reflecting on lessons gathered from the pickleball court.

As one grows older and mortality draws nearer, certain questions acquire a sharper urgency. Chief among them is the quiet reckoning with the fact that one day, there will be no “me” left to know that there ever was a “me.” The legacy I might leave behind, subject to exponential decay, is no consolation to the self who will not be around to witness it.

But before I drift too far into the maudlin, let me pause here. I look forward to being here again — with my 300th post.

Ciao, and thanks for reading.