Low diatribe

I've been thinking about the paradox of our time: we're drowning in signal.

Every email marked urgent. Every meeting labeled critical. Every notification demanding immediate attention. Every voice insisting it has the answer, the insight, the breakthrough that changes everything.

But I've realized that when everything is signal, nothing is.

It hit me while scanning broadcast radio while driving across country. You find one clear station, perfect signal, but as you move from area to area, one station bleeds into another and any meaning is lost. Now imagine fifty stations broadcasting on the same frequency, each convinced their message is the most important. How about a thousand, or ten thousand? What do you hear? Static. Pure, overwhelming static.

This is where I see us living now. In the static created by signal saturation.

I've watched how the louder everyone gets, the less anyone hears. The more urgent everything becomes, the less urgent anything feels. The competing frequencies don't amplify each other: they interfere, creating noise that drowns out meaning.

I think we've confused volume with clarity. Frequency with importance. Reach with resonance.

I've learned the solution isn't to shout louder. It's not about finding a flashier presentation or a bigger amplifier. It's recognizing that while everyone else is competing for bandwidth, there's a different frequency altogether: one that doesn't compete because it doesn't need to.

I call it the thrum.

That low, steady vibration I've noticed that carries beneath the noise. I've heard it. I've felt it. It doesn't fight for attention because it doesn't operate in the same spectrum as the static. It's the frequency of consistency, of reliability, of quiet presence that people learn to tune into when everything else becomes overwhelming.

In my experience with leadership, this has meant stopping the urge to add my voice to the signal pile. Instead, I try to tune into what's already resonating. Listen for the patterns beneath the noise. Hold space for the softer voices to be heard. Build the steady hum that people can rely on.

In communication, I've found it means less frequent but more intentional transmission. Quality over quantity. Depth over breadth. Resonance over reach.

In culture, I think it means creating the carrier wave: the underlying frequency that holds everything together when the surface gets chaotic.

The thrum doesn't compete with the static. It carries what matters through it.

And in a world where everyone is broadcasting, maybe what I've learned we need most are those willing to tune in, turn down, and help the signal find its way through the noise.