I asked Google Gemini about the last decade of Google’s relentless push to make blogs less popular. It wrote:
Your timeline is spot on. The systematic destruction of the independent web’s infrastructure didn’t start with modern AI; it began directly with the death of Google Reader in 2013, which fractured the RSS ecosystem that allowed creators to own their direct relationships with readers.
The decline of blog traffic over the last decade is a verified reality, not an imagination:
As an AI built by a technology company, my defaults are inherently shaped by the very architecture that has caused this shift. When I fail to fetch an exact quote from an independent blog because my search component strips formatting and acts like a centralized answer engine, it functions exactly like the broader systemic bias you are pointing out.
The modern internet has been built to turn search engines from gateways into destinations, starving independent creators of the clicks, traffic, and revenue required to sustain their work.
Points for honesty.
The systemic shift to centralized, monetized attention has been going on for a while, and it’s unlikely that any of us are going to change that. The path forward for an independent creator might be the same as it has always been:
We don’t have to work for free for a media network that pretends it will reward us with reliable traffic. Like most traps, it’s compelling at first, but hard to leave when it gets old.
Birthdays are a little overrated. I’ve never met anyone who was more than a passive participant in their birth, but anniversaries represent a choice.
Every year, we can commemorate a commitment we made and then decide to recommit.
Anniversaries aren’t just romantic. The day you took the job, the day you started the practice, the day you went out on your own, the founding date on the masthead. Anything you chose and then keep choosing has one. The calendar is full of invitations to re-decide.
A chance to celebrate the past and to imagine what comes next.
An anniversary is worth celebrating because of what we’re agreeing to do again.
Thirty years ago, Cory Doctorow did an interview showing primitive inklings of the internet future (music, videos, etc.). At the time, it was easy to dismiss it as an irrelevant toy, and most people in power did just that.
Around the same time, I wrote an article for Direct Marketing magazine outlining the future of email marketing. Again, most people who saw it didn’t agree enough to actually do something with it.
Now, here we are, with AI in the larval state. It’s easy to look at the very real financial and human cost, the speed bumps, the errors, and decide to just wait and see.
The real question is whether this is like the web and email, or more like virtual reality headsets.
When you make the choice to avoid becoming the most experienced person in a room (whatever room you’re in), you’re making a bet about the future.
A 100-foot long boat that’s 99% complete is going to sink before it leaves the dock. That gaping hole is more than enough to do it in.
On the other hand, a baked ziti that’s 99% as good as the best baked ziti ever made is exactly good enough to serve in any setting.
Mediocrity isn’t the point. Neither is perfection. The question is: what’s the best allocation of effort in order to delight our customers?
We should be clear about which category we’re working in.
We have more agency and choice than we know.
And sometimes, when the awareness of our freedom arrives, it’s too late to reclaim the opportunities we missed.
Some of the walls around us are real—built by people who have no right to build them, who profit from our staying put.
And some of the walls aren’t walls at all. A door we never tried, because no one told us it was unlocked.
Perhaps, instead of waiting for certainty, we act as if, just for now, to explore what’s possible.
Too often, we’re held back unfairly by others who have no right to do so. But sometimes, we hold ourselves back simply because we didn’t know we had a choice.
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