Over the last few years, the way we share creative work online has changed. This video is a reflection on making things, sharing imperfectly, and staying connected to the work itself — not just the outcome.
It’s about small projects, niche interests, personal taste, and the quiet satisfaction of showing up and continuing.
As we head into 2026: do what you love, love what you do, and share some stuff.
*More Channel Info:* Welcome to N Scale Dystopia - A channel dedicated to documenting the build of a post-apocalyptic N Scale Model Railroad and Dioramas based on Union station in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
If you found this video intriguing, consider subscribing for more content as I lean into creating more dystopian scale models. I'm figuring a lot of this out along the way, so it's always nice to have you join me on the journey and offer support, but more importantly, feedback! https://www.youtube.com/@NScaleDystopia?sub_confirmation=1
So, not too long ago, something really
awesome happened to our online
communities. The pandemic hit. Our whole
world fell apart and we were stuck at
home. People were climbing the walls and
they decided to either start hobbies,
return to old hobbies, and most
importantly share what they were working
on. People started YouTube channels and
Instagram accounts. Spare bedrooms and
basement became studios. People started
to learn how to edit a video on their
phone. They came up with funny names.
They sourced out wild music and
downloaded templates to make everything
they produced look interesting and
unique. And the internet started to feel
like local public access television.
Many of us were part of these small
online communities and we waited
impatiently for a little bell to go off
or an alert so they could take a look at
a recent photo or a new video upload. It
was a hobby renaissance and for me I
loved it. It was honestly the high point
of the lockdown. And then the lockdown
ended. Um, life returned. We got busy
and most importantly, we left the house.
The time we had to not only work on our
hobbies, but to share them, well, it
quickly went away. A lot of people still
wanted to share what they were doing.
So, when time allowed, they'd post a
photo or a short video just to let
people know what they were up to. But
the social media ecosystem is a fickle
thing. It rewards consistency, it
rewards optimization, and it rewards
viewership. And social media doesn't
have much patience. So, people who had
been enjoying a thriving online
community shared less and got punished
for it. You'd post something, nobody
would say anything, and it felt like it
wasn't worth it anymore. And honestly,
that makes a lot of sense.
My entire professional life and my life
before being a grown-up has always been
spent in creative spaces. I'm lucky I
get paid to make pretty things. I went
to art school. I taught at art school.
And in both those places, progress
always mattered more than performance.
You weren't evaluated on outcomes. You
were evaluated on growth. You worked on
projects. You shared them with your
peers. You got feedback and you
improved. As a teacher, you attract
someone's progress over the semester.
Were they getting better? Were they
thinking differently? Professionally,
you present ideas, you refine them, and
you do your best to shape them to match
the client's needs. Feedback is a big
part of that process. And across that,
there's one thing that's always a
constant. You have to share. I loved
teaching. It was hard, but I loved it.
Watching somebody build a skill, gain
confidence, figure out what matters to
them, and learn how to communicate their
ideas is incredibly rewarding. And
progress doesn't need an audience of
thousands to be meaningful. I love my
hobby. I love building little empires
and I love sharing what I do. I'm also
very lucky that I get to make videos.
Making videos is fun. Playing with
effects, mood, and music, that's fun.
It's another creative outlet for me. But
it's not the point. The point is the
work itself. It probably won't surprise
you that I love apocalyptic movies. I
like zombies and urban decay. I like
vintage horror films. I like abandoned
spaces. And I like graffiti. And I'm
always trying to tap into those
interests and figure out how I can merge
them into my little world. And after
I've done that, try to figure out a way
to share it with you. Whether it be the
content of the thing that I'm working on
or the wrapper that I put around the
video. The goal is to see if I can
progress by revisiting my own ideas and
sharing them to see if there's any
growth. That's the stuff I like and I
like to share the things that I like.
But I'll be the first to admit it's not
for everybody. What's great about having
a niche interest is when somebody else
who likes the same things as you do uh
finds you, you immediately become part
of a like-minded little community. And
that means you get to interact with
people who are going to offer up
encouragement or new ideas and that's
going to feel great. That's a niche. The
only downside of a niche is that it
doesn't scale very well. And when you
share something to an admittedly small
audience, it might feel like you're not
getting the traction you wish your ideas
were getting. And it can start to feel
like that sharing doesn't really matter.
And you know what? That can be
discouraging. But for me, those small
personal stories are some of my favorite
thing on the internet. I love videos
that maybe struggle to tell their story
that aren't necessarily dramatic and
maybe don't have the highest production
value, but they're personal and they're
sharing an individual story and
individual growth. And I find it
inspiring and encouraging to see what
anybody's working on. I like seeing
other people get excited about their own
projects. And I love it even more when
they have the courage to share it. That
doesn't mean that these small personal
stories can't be popular. There's just
this unfortunate misconception if that
your personal approach doesn't resonate
with a large audience, that it's a flaw,
and it's not. It might just mean that
what you're interested doesn't
necessarily always make for great TV,
but that doesn't mean that it has any
less value. Feedback matters. When you
put something out there and people react
positively, it feels great. But with
that, if you put too much effort into
trying to learn the rules of the
platforms, the algorithm, and you change
your approach to satisfy the needs of
views, likes, and comments, you can
accidentally wind up changing your
approach to actually doing the things
that you love. And if you start chasing
that feedback by changing the way you
work or working on the things that you
actually enjoy, it's going to lead
nowhere but frustration. So why am I
saying all this? I mean, the digital
landscape has changed and maybe not
necessarily for the better, and for
anyone who wants to share what they're
working on, it can be a frustrating
uphill process because you're not
necessarily going to see the recognition
that it's going to motivate you. I'm
saying it because when people share, a
community thrives and there's an awesome
community out there that I would love to
see thrive even more. I would love to
see people share more. I want to remind
people that they can contribute in their
own unique way. That you're allowed to
share what you're working on
imperfectly. You're allowed to exist
online without turning yourself into a
product. Communities like this don't
thrive because everybody plays the game
well. They thrive because people keep
showing up honestly over time. And so
for 2026, this is what I'm saying. Do
what you love, love what you do, and
share. Happy New Year, everybody. I hope
to see more from you, and I'll see you
next time.
[Music]
[Music]