Introduction: A Familiar Feeling
I don’t remember the exact date I started writing publicly online—but I remember the feeling.
That quiet thrill of typing something personal, something true, and hitting “publish.” Not because I thought anyone needed to read it, but because I needed to write it. And because somewhere, just maybe, someone else might recognize a little piece of themselves in it.
Back then, we called them online diaries. I used LiveJournal in the early ‘90s, and like so many others, I was drawn in by the strange magic of putting your thoughts into the void—and realizing it wasn’t a void at all. People read. People responded. We built quiet little corners of the Internet where thoughts became conversations, and where reflection became connection.
This blog—PixelPia’s Perspective—isn’t a LiveJournal. But in some ways, it feels like I’ve come full circle. I’m still writing in public. I’m still figuring things out as I go. And I still believe there’s value in showing up with honesty, even in a digital world that moves faster than ever.
From Diaries to Saunas: My Shifting Digital Spaces
After my time on LiveJournal, I moved on to Blogger. But this time, I wasn’t writing a diary. I created something different—something I called Thinking Sauna.
It wasn’t a place to document my daily life. It was a space to sit with ideas, to let thoughts rise and swirl like steam, and to see where they might lead. I used it to think out loud. Sometimes about technology, sometimes about education, often about the strange intersection of the two.
And in truth, I’ve always written through strong feelings—especially sorrow or anger—not to share them, but to see my own thoughts more clearly. When the internet came along, it offered the strange possibility of doing that in public, which was both scary and strangely motivating. It changed something in me—made reflection not just private, but potentially part of a shared experience.
The name wasn’t random. As a Swede, the sauna has always been a place of warmth, quiet, and clarity—a place where you slow down enough to really listen. That’s what I wanted this digital space to feel like. Not a performance. Not a brand. Just a warm place to think.
And while I didn’t know it at the time, that impulse—to write not just to inform but to reflect—would eventually bring me here, to PixelPia’s Perspective.
A Short History of Writing in Public
Before social media, before likes and follows, there were online diaries.
They started quietly in the mid-1990s—simple personal pages, often hand-coded in HTML, where people wrote about their lives, thoughts, and questions. It was a strange and beautiful thing: a private act made visible to anyone who might stumble across it.
LiveJournal, which I used in the early days, was one of the first platforms to make this easier. Others like Open Diary, Blogger, DiaryLand, and later Xanga offered different ways to write, connect, and build little communities of readers and writers. Some let you post anonymously, others let you comment, follow, or join topic-based groups. Many people (myself included) used pseudonyms and gave their journals poetic or moody names—sometimes to protect our privacy, sometimes just because it felt more us.
These platforms weren’t just tools—they were spaces. Spaces for self-discovery. Spaces for connection. And spaces where you didn’t need to be an expert or an influencer to be heard.
In hindsight, they also laid the groundwork for what became blogging, and later social media. But something was different then. The rhythm was slower. The expectations were lower. And in many ways, the writing felt more honest.
What’s Changed—and What I Still Hold Onto
Today, online writing looks very different.
Blogging platforms still exist, of course—but they now compete with newsletters, vlogs, social media threads, and carefully curated content calendars. There’s more polish. More strategy. More pressure to grow an audience, build a brand, and “deliver value.”
But that’s never been my goal.
What I loved about those early platforms wasn’t the reach—it was the room. Room to think, to explore, to share without needing to wrap everything up in a neat conclusion. Room to be unsure, or curious, or in-progress. That’s what I try to preserve here on PixelPia’s Perspective.
This blog was born from the feeling that I needed a more personal space—something different from Critically Curious or my YouTube channel. Those projects have their place, but they often carry expectations, themes, even a bit of structure. PixelPia’s Perspective was created just for me and my thoughts. A space where I could write without a plan, without a performance, and without pressure. If someone finds value in what I write here, that’s wonderful—but it’s not the reason I write. The value starts in the writing itself.
Yes, the tools are more advanced now. The audience might be wider. But the heart of it—writing in public as a way to reflect, to connect, to wonder out loud—hasn’t changed for me.
I still believe there’s something powerful about showing up with your thoughts before they’re fully formed. About writing not because you have the answers, but because you’re still learning how to ask the questions.
Why I Still Write in Public
I don’t write publicly because I think my thoughts are especially important. I write because they’re mine, and because the act of putting them into words helps me understand them better. Writing, for me, has always been a way to make my thoughts visible—not just to others, but to myself. It’s like holding up a mirror to my inner world. Sometimes, that reflection offers clarity I didn’t know I needed. Whether I’m working through confusion, curiosity, or emotion, writing helps me name things I might not have otherwise noticed.
And sometimes, I write just for the joy of it. For the simple pleasure of linking words together, seeing what comes out, and playing with language. Especially since English is my second language, writing has always been a way for me to explore and expand my vocabulary. It’s a kind of creative play—one that continues to surprise me and keep me learning.
Some people think of blogs as outdated. But for me, this space is still alive. It’s where I come to slow down. To trace the shape of a thought. To notice patterns. Sometimes to share what I’ve learned, and sometimes just to figure out what I’m still learning.
Writing in public adds a layer of clarity. It asks me to pay attention—to how I think, how I speak, how I make sense of the world. And every once in a while, someone else sees themselves in those reflections. That’s the quiet kind of connection I value most.
There’s no algorithm here deciding what matters. Just a person—me—trying to think out loud in the open. And maybe that’s enough.
A Quiet Invitation
In many ways, this brings me back to where I began. That moment in the introduction—the quiet thrill of pressing “publish” on something personal, something unfinished. Writing publicly helped me notice things I might have missed in my own mind, but more than that, it gave me a reason to keep playing with language, exploring ideas, and letting my thoughts take shape.
Maybe you’ve kept a diary. Maybe you’ve written blog posts, or notes to yourself, or long, thoughtful emails that no one ever answered.
Maybe you’ve never shared your thoughts in public—but you’ve felt the pull.
I don’t think everyone has to write publicly. But I do think there’s something deeply human about wanting to be seen and understood. Writing can offer that—not just to others, but to ourselves.
So here’s a quiet invitation:
What would you write if it didn’t have to be perfect?
What would you share if you weren’t trying to impress anyone?
You don’t have to answer out loud. But if the question stays with you, that’s a start.
