This weekend I purposely didn't touch a computer. After a month straight of heavy DFOS usage — being the always-present community manager across dozens of spaces — I needed to step back.
The space was helpful. Rather than trying to perform, I was able to instead feel. Great cultural experiences understand our emotions. Did I understand mine?
The honest question
The first and hardest question I was sitting with: is DFOS different enough?
We set out to make a shared private internet built around community connection. This is happening, with more than 2,000 messages sent last week alone across the few spaces we’ve allowed so far. The activity is good. The attention it demands less so.
When I open DFOS and see notifications across multiple spaces and conversations, I sometimes feel the same anxiety I get opening Slack and every other noisy platform. If being part of DFOS means your phone is always on, always asking something of you, then we've accidentally rebuilt the thing we're trying to replace.
I shared this with the team and it turned out everyone was feeling versions of it. Lena went to a cafe with only a notebook because the information flooding had become overwhelming. Brandon started dedicating Saturdays to being offline. Ilya pointed out that chat creates an instant daily to-do list where it's hard to control your level of participation. This wasn't what we set out to do.
What showed up
To break the cycle, I started the next day by scrolling on butcher paper instead of going to my computer. I began with a simple sketch of what a “Today” view might look like — a calm surface that shows you what's going on across your spaces.
But then something bigger showed up.
I started imagining what the homepages of actual spaces might look like when admins have real control over them. We've always said each space should be different, but what if every space had a homepage its Spacerunner(s) could design — tiles for specific conversations, a feed from a topic, an embedded app, a pinned post — whatever tells the story of that community? A music space looks like a music space. A research space looks like a research space. No two spaces look the same because no two communities are the same.
And then: subgroups. Join a subgroup and you subscribe to their content, their chat, their posts. You only see what you opt into. A 500-person space can feel intimate to every member depending on which subgroups they're in. You don't have to tend a massive community — you tend your corner of it.