The Hunger Beneath the Interface
Jess Bielman
InsightTimer, Calm, Headspace, Buddhify, and Breathwork all help people address the collective and rampant anxiety of the world we are living in. They call us inward to ourselves to explore grounding techniques and holistic approaches to wellness. They have built multi-million dollar companies to address the real needs of what the World Health Organization calls a global mental health crisis.
Each application is polished, full of ambient sounds, and minimalist fonts. They offer tools of breathing, silence, and community. These are not to attempt to fix us, but to remind us that we still have an inner compass. They help us identify techniques to slow down and center ourselves. Behind every tap is an intention as well as a meaningful way to practice mindfulness:
They want us to identify the emotion of the moment
They want us to know we are not alone
They want us to know we don’t have to figure it out all at once
They want us to know we can let down to be safe if only for a moment
What the soul of these apps is trying to convey is that people are overwhelmed. We are not just overwhelmed with stress, but with fragmentation. The soul of these apps speaks to a time in our history that has endless content but little assurance that it is making us better people.
Algorithmic Solitude, Real Longing
These applications sit at the strange and complex intersection of capitalism and contemplative practice. Even in commodified mindfulness, a real ache for presence breaks through. I see this as a teacher on InsightTimer. I navigate both the hope to make an impact while maximizing the algorithm.
When wrapped in monetization models and SEO-optimized keywords, these platforms are responding to something real. There is a spiritual hunger. People are downloading guided meditations because somewhere in them hopes that someone will say something true, something real, something relevant, something vulnerable, something healing.
Those new to Insight Timer often report that they don’t know where to start. The algorithms point you towards the most successful teachers and felt-need topics. The religious content is ubiquitous but often feels like it asks us the question, “There is no one way to the sacred. But where do you begin? Where is the starting point?”
In this sense, it offers thresholds more than answers. You’re free to enter through mindfulness and exit into mysticism. Free to explore, staying rooted in neuroscience and never touching formal religion. Either way, you’re journeying inward and addressing the soul’s longing.
For creators who serve as gurus, guides, teachers, and poets, these platforms are mirrors. What does the application reflect to you about your own soul-work? I confess to my live meditation gatherers on Tuesday mornings that I write the meditations that I need. I tell them that every one of these pieces comes from my own deep longing, need for growth, or discerned path. Many of my morning live sessions end with me paying gratitude to those in attendance because I did not realize how much I needed the very thing I was facilitating for them.
The irony is that these applications distribute wisdom, but I have little visibility over how these impact the real lived experiences of the users. I must be truly open-handed with the work. The integration of what we hear into who we are can’t be downloaded.
In many ways I feel like I have been a misfit in formal religious settings. In so many ways I needed the open system, the anonymity, and the creative space to find my spirit calling me inward to myself, to attend to the craving of my soul; a place where my own longings can find kindred spirits within the algorithm of 20 million users. And, I am grateful for its hospitality I find as I live out my own spiritual needs in real-time with whoever in the world wants to log on to join me.