The difference between news and noise

Brett Freeman

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself feeling overwhelmed in a way that’s difficult to fully describe.

Maybe “malaise” is the word. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe anger.

Probably all three.

I went for a walk recently to clear my head, and while I was walking, I kept thinking about how strange it feels to live in this moment in history. Every waking second, we are drinking from a firehose of information. We wake up and immediately look at our phones. We scroll social media while watching TV and we bounce between text messages, Facebook, Instagram, X, TikTok, YouTube, podcasts, alerts, breaking news, outrage of the day, catastrophe of the hour.

The flow never stops.

And what’s remarkable is that these algorithms are now so personalized that they can convince us the entire world is talking about one thing, when in reality, we’re each living inside our own carefully curated silo of information.

I’ll catch myself thinking that the world is crumbling, only to look at the actual trending topics on X and realize most people are focused on something entirely different. We’re connected to everything and everyone, yet somehow increasingly fragmented. And honestly, it’s exhausting.

I went to bed angry the other night and woke up angry the next morning. I found myself getting pulled into arguments online, reading stories that inflamed me, watching people talk past one another with certainty and outrage. Everywhere you look, there is another fight demanding your emotional energy.

And lately, I’ve started wondering how much of the outrage we experience online is even organic anymore.

I recently read a fascinating article titled "The feed is fake," by Lane Brown on msn.com. The author described how digital marketing firms now work to manufacture the appearance of viral consensus online, sometimes even amplifying both sides of the same controversy simply because outrage drives engagement. The author suggests this may have been the case for the "controversy" over Bad Bunny's performance at the Super Bowl halftime show in February, as well as the "Sydney Sweeney Has Great Jeans" commercial for American Eagle.

That realization is hard to shake.

Because once you understand that algorithms, coordinated campaigns, anonymous accounts and even artificial intelligence can all shape what appears in our feeds, you start questioning whether the emotional temperature of the country is entirely real, or whether parts of it are being deliberately inflated for profit, politics or attention. And if corporations can manipulate outrage for profit, it’s not difficult to imagine foreign adversaries exploiting the same dynamics for political division.

Maybe that helps explain why so many people feel exhausted all the time. And the truth is, after a while, carrying around that much anger starts to wear on your soul.

A few weeks ago, I attended a journalism conference where a well-known speaker formerly employed at a major magazine reflected on covering the 2016 and 2024 elections. At one point, she described interviewing voters whose views she found so irrational and alarming that she walked away questioning not only the electorate, but the country itself. By the end of her remarks, what emerged was a view of journalism that I found deeply troubling: journalism not as an effort to understand people with differing perspectives, but as an exercise in shining a light in the darkness so those who shared the same worldview could find one another.

I left thinking about how dangerous that mindset can become. Once journalists stop approaching their fellow citizens with curiosity and humility, once we begin assuming that everyone who disagrees with us is either ignorant, immoral or crazy, then journalism stops being a public service and starts becoming an exercise in tribal affirmation.

The speaker expressed frustration that many Americans no longer trusted major media institutions when it came to coverage of a particular candidate. Yet ironically, the attitude she displayed may itself help explain that erosion of trust.

At the same time, life keeps moving. My daughter is a sophomore in high school now, which is both wonderful and terrifying. Suddenly, conversations about college are becoming real. And moments like that have a way of putting everything else into perspective.

Because while the internet screams at us nonstop, the things that actually matter remain surprisingly simple: Spending time with people we love, sharing a meal, taking a walk, being present, putting down the phone, breathing fresh air and having real conversations face to face instead of through screens.

I’ve also found myself thinking a lot lately about newspapers, specifically physical newspapers, and why they still matter.

In an era where everyone is fighting for attention online, there is something strangely powerful about a newspaper arriving quietly in your mailbox. Think about how little physical mail we receive anymore. A printed newspaper is finite. Tangible. Intentional. It doesn’t scream at you with notifications. It doesn’t demand that you scroll endlessly. It doesn’t trap you inside an outrage algorithm designed to maximize engagement.

Instead, it simply says: Here are the stories that matter today. Take your time. Read them. Think about them. Then go live your life.

Maybe that sounds old-fashioned. But lately, I’m starting to think what's old is new again. That’s why, despite everything, I’m actually optimistic about the future of community newspapers.

There’s another reality about local journalism that people don’t always see. In recent weeks, I’ve watched stories circulate rapidly across social media long before official announcements were made. In some cases, we knew the information ourselves. But as a newspaper, we were asked to respect news embargoes or wait for official confirmation before publishing.

To be honest, that can be frustrating. In the social media era, restraint can sometimes feel like losing. But maybe restraint is exactly what communities need more of right now. Not every rumor needs to become a headline within 30 seconds. Not every developing situation benefits from instant speculation. Sometimes the responsible thing is to slow down, verify information carefully, and approach people and institutions with seriousness rather than urgency.

And above all, to remember that the people we serve are neighbors, not caricatures.

Somewhere along the way, we confused constant consumption with being informed. And maybe what many of us are really craving right now is not more noise, but more perspective and humanity.

I just know that during that walk, away from the screens and the noise for a little while, I felt something that has become increasingly rare lately: clarity.