### My Farewell to iNaturalist: Logging Off from Citizen Science

It started with a spark of pure joy. I’d be on a hike, spot a peculiar mushroom or a brightly-colored beetle, and feel a jolt of curiosity. With iNaturalist, that curiosity had an outlet. I could snap a photo, upload it, and within hours, a community of experts and enthusiasts would help me put a name to the face. That little mushroom was a *Mycena adonis*, the beetle a *Chrysina gloriosa*. Each identification felt like unlocking a secret.

For years, the app was my constant companion. It transformed my walks from simple exercise into thrilling biological treasure hunts. My life list grew, my identification skills sharpened, and I felt a genuine connection to the scientific process. I was a citizen scientist, contributing real, valuable data with every tap of my screen. I loved watching the global map light up with observations, a testament to a collective passion for the natural world.

So why did I leave?

There wasn’t a single dramatic event. It was a slow, creeping realization. The tool that had once deepened my connection to nature began to feel like a barrier. My focus had shifted from the experience to the documentation. Instead of watching a bee pollinate a flower, I was fretting about getting the perfect angle for an ID photo. The quiet joy of just *looking* was replaced by the low-grade anxiety of capturing, uploading, and categorizing.

Nature had become a checklist. A hike felt less complete if I didn’t come back with a dozen new observations to upload. I started seeing the world through a gamified lens. Was that bird rare? Would this lichen get a lot of confirmations? I was chasing the dopamine hit of a “Research Grade” observation rather than soaking in the simple, unmediated beauty of my surroundings.

Then there was the weight of the community. While overwhelmingly positive, the sheer scale of it began to feel like a responsibility. The notifications were endless. I felt a pressure to identify others’ findings, to engage in taxonomic debates, and to maintain my status as a reliable identifier. What started as a hobby began to feel like an unpaid job, complete with its own set of social pressures and expectations.

The final straw was a walk I took a few months ago. I left my phone in the car by accident. At first, I felt a pang of panic. How would I document the interesting slime mold I found? How would I identify that warbler I could hear but not see?

But as I walked, a sense of peace washed over me. I sat on a log and just watched ants march by without feeling the urge to photograph them. I used my ears, my eyes, and my memory. The world felt richer, more present. I wasn’t just observing nature; I was a part of it again, without a screen mediating the experience.

I haven’t deleted my account. My data is still there, a contribution I’m proud of. I still believe iNaturalist is a revolutionary tool for conservation, education, and science. It connects people to their local environment in a powerful way, and I will always admire its mission.

But for me, it was time to log off. I’m trading the digital map for a well-worn field guide and the endless scroll of observations for a quiet moment on a trail. I’m learning to let the mysteries of nature remain mysteries sometimes. And in doing so, I’ve found that my connection to the wild world I love has never been stronger.