I recently left Twitter. Not entirely... but I deleted it from my phone. I check my Twitter feed on a laptop 2-3 times a week, instead of 10-15 times(!) each day on my phone. I decided to delete Twitter not long after also deleting Facebook from my phone and delighting in the changes I experienced when the "F" disappeared.
Two weeks in, I feel really, really good.
For the first 3 days, I had a twitchy thumb--the phantom instinct to scroll through my feed. There have been a handful of times when a pithy and tweet-able insight flashed across my mind and I had no way to share it instantaneously (*gasp... lost forever!). Apart from this, I report no ill effects. No one is clamoring for me to return. No one in social media seems to miss me... or notice I'm gone. Such is the case, perhaps, with a "social world" that is disproportionately about self-display.
Are there benefits to social media detachment?
For one, since I’ve been off of Twitter, I no longer handle my phone so often. When I was keeping an active social media presence, I was ALWAYS picking up my phone. Always. So much so that I didn't even notice how much I did it. So much so that every "empty" moment got filled with thumb-scrolling. It is chilling to think how easily a high-cost consumer device had insinuated itself into my very being, but I felt powerless to keep it away. I rationalized how the phone had become part of me... a part of me being me. Now that I'm not "being me" on social media, the device has retreated into a more appropriate place in my life. I've achieved a healthier relationship to the device itself.
For one, since I’ve been off of Twitter, I no longer handle my phone so often. When I was keeping an active social media presence, I was ALWAYS picking up my phone. Always. So much so that I didn't even notice how much I did it. So much so that every "empty" moment got filled with thumb-scrolling. It is chilling to think how easily a high-cost consumer device had insinuated itself into my very being, but I felt powerless to keep it away. I rationalized how the phone had become part of me... a part of me being me. Now that I'm not "being me" on social media, the device has retreated into a more appropriate place in my life. I've achieved a healthier relationship to the device itself.
Another positive change: I’ve noticed an increased desire to share myself with actual people (rather than my "followers"). I’m definitely chatting up the folks in line more, talking to people next to me at the gas station, laughing with the bagger at the grocery store. I take this increased sociability as a good thing, although I could definitely see other people reading me as “that annoying guy who should keep his observations about the lovely fall weather to himself.” I'd like to believe I'm also still able to share all those pithy insights with the world... but this time as they come up in actual conversations.
Something else positive since I’ve removed the social media apps from my phone is that I’m “here” more. I know that sounds weird—where else would I be?—but I’m quite sure that social media had taken over part of my existence, preventing that part of me from being accessed by people close to me. A part of my person was always thinking about my performance “over there.” It definitely detracted from being present here. It will be up to my family to say whether they like it now that dad is “here” more often, but I like it. I like it here more than there.
My “social media” self was always performing. Writing to be seen. To be noticed. To make myself visible. I wanted to have the smartest insight. The wittiest remark. To win followers. To be an authority. But it all happens in this strange, isolated echo chamber. I surround myself with people whom I like, who disproportionately think like me; and who give me very little real feedback on the digital me. I felt like a charlatan on social media. In part, it’s because in that digital space, there’s no good, healthy, reliable way to read and internalize the minimal feedback you get. I found social media to be a deeply flawed space for reciprocal human communication.
We human beings are meant to be with each other face to face. For hundreds of thousands of years, our species has been learning how to “read” each other in the flesh. The majority of our communication happens non-verbally. We are always sending each signals, cues, messages. And we are always responding to the signals others are sending us. When we say something offensive online, there’s really not someone “there” to feed back in a way that we can hear it and grow from it. If you say that same thing in person, inhabiting the same social space, there are 1000 ways, with your body, with your eyes, with your face, your eyebrows, plus a million verbal ways to express your disapproval--and have that expression received and internalized.
Something else positive since I’ve removed the social media apps from my phone is that I’m “here” more. I know that sounds weird—where else would I be?—but I’m quite sure that social media had taken over part of my existence, preventing that part of me from being accessed by people close to me. A part of my person was always thinking about my performance “over there.” It definitely detracted from being present here. It will be up to my family to say whether they like it now that dad is “here” more often, but I like it. I like it here more than there.
My “social media” self was always performing. Writing to be seen. To be noticed. To make myself visible. I wanted to have the smartest insight. The wittiest remark. To win followers. To be an authority. But it all happens in this strange, isolated echo chamber. I surround myself with people whom I like, who disproportionately think like me; and who give me very little real feedback on the digital me. I felt like a charlatan on social media. In part, it’s because in that digital space, there’s no good, healthy, reliable way to read and internalize the minimal feedback you get. I found social media to be a deeply flawed space for reciprocal human communication.
We human beings are meant to be with each other face to face. For hundreds of thousands of years, our species has been learning how to “read” each other in the flesh. The majority of our communication happens non-verbally. We are always sending each signals, cues, messages. And we are always responding to the signals others are sending us. When we say something offensive online, there’s really not someone “there” to feed back in a way that we can hear it and grow from it. If you say that same thing in person, inhabiting the same social space, there are 1000 ways, with your body, with your eyes, with your face, your eyebrows, plus a million verbal ways to express your disapproval--and have that expression received and internalized.
Communication is about creating bonds, defining the terms of our relationships, and establishing shared sociality. We are meant to communicate in person.
Nine years ago, I joined Twitter because, as a pastor for "young adults," I wanted to know firsthand what it FELT LIKE to inhabit a social media space. I now know. I loved the flow of information... but in the end, I was deeply unmoved by this means of communication. I didn't like the person I was on social media, always performing. I wasn't sharing or receiving messages in a way that helped me grow as a part of an interconnected community. I didn't like the person--or the community--that social media seemed to encourage.
We need each other. In the flesh, we need each other. This is how we are and who we are—we give and receive, we nourish and nurture, we support and correct each other in the journey of being human. We are made to inhabit space with other flesh and blood bodies, within the created world. Maybe, in time, my children or their children will learn to read one another and share detailed emotional feedback as capably in the social media space as we do in the real world. Perhaps. I don't suppose that I will ever get there. You can still "friend me" on Facebook and "favorite" my tweets. But I won't go to those spaces expecting to communicate with you. For that, I want to see you face-to-face.
We need each other. In the flesh, we need each other. This is how we are and who we are—we give and receive, we nourish and nurture, we support and correct each other in the journey of being human. We are made to inhabit space with other flesh and blood bodies, within the created world. Maybe, in time, my children or their children will learn to read one another and share detailed emotional feedback as capably in the social media space as we do in the real world. Perhaps. I don't suppose that I will ever get there. You can still "friend me" on Facebook and "favorite" my tweets. But I won't go to those spaces expecting to communicate with you. For that, I want to see you face-to-face.
No comments:
Post a Comment