This is not the first time I've taken a break from the book of face - many times over the past 10 years I've deactivated my account for stretches of up to several months, but upon returning to it this week I have some new reflections.
When I turned off and tuned out of social media a little over a month ago it was about curbing an addiction. While I was not 'using' that much by some standards, I was definitely in the compulsive checking habit. I was also noticing that when I made an effort to resist the craving for a day or more my mood and sense of well being improved. It was beginning to really annoy me that my computer was encouraging me through 'click-baiting' my browser's memory and enthusiastically filling in '-acebook' every time I started typing the letter F into the search bar.
In the first few days I congratulated myself for being above average in the impulse control department. It was surprisingly easy for me not to log in to check my messages, post 'likes', or scroll through my newsfeed. With each passing day it got easier - I had been needing a break and was clearly ready to unplug. The experience has made me ponder (more than usual) the nature of human connections in the age of social media, email, and texting and revisit my intention to invest my energy in the real ones more often. Even in my closest relationships I have been sometimes ill at ease with the way text has become not only a venue for checking in or giving information, but also to sort through complex issues and emotional dynamics. I have been guilty of, and have been swept up with others in the instant gratification of being able to get something off the chest now and have it 'said' (good or bad). In retrospect, even though I have been the recipient of some truly fun, and sometimes absolutely swoon-worthy stuff via text, instant message and email, it has also been the ground for the planting of deep and pernicious misunderstandings. Instant, faceless communication allows us to decide what we think was said and leave 'conversations' without having to face or be faced by the more subtle and discernible truths that can only be found in 3-dimensional methods of connecting.
As someone who writes, I love the playful use of written language that social media and our devices give us, but I have also been guilty of mis-using the venue for conversations that would be better had by organizing an in person meeting or voice call. It's so convenient, and when I'm stressed or upset about something and fearing disconnection, it's sometimes easier for me to express myself in writing. But there's something so absolute about the written world - even when it is coming from a place of curiosity or uncertainty it can have a way of seeming so ultimate and decisive. It's not something that can be taken back, and much is left to the interpretation and inner voice of the reader.
Anyway, I digress...but these thoughts are related to what I am puzzling over. The social connection part of the social media equation.
For the month I was 'away' from Facebook I often felt like I was missing out on conversations and events that were happening outside of my tangible reality. It was a bit like sitting alone in the school yard or cafeteria, peripherally aware of the quiet whisperings of peers, wondering if there is a party you're not invited to or a secret you're not privy to. And a few times over the month I discovered that I had indeed missed out on some social/professional gatherings - a few I found out about last minute because someone thought to text or tell me about it in real time. This became the biggest issue for me in being off Facebook - the connections that I was potentially missing because I was away from the platform. I didn't miss the time-wasting and compulsive scrolling, and I didn't (much) think about the fact that no one had recently given me a thumbs up or heart emoji to show me how much they liked what I had to say or approved of something cool I had done. But a few times I felt as if I had been disconnected from the 'community message board'. Overall however, I felt happier, calmer, and more connected to the things that were actually happening around me. The things that were 'close in' rather than peripheral.
As a friend observed this week on my 'timeline', Facebook is a lot like an alternate universe (thanks for that one Perch). It is a world happening on another plane of existence, only accessible through devices that are connected to an unseen array of energetic signals being transmitted through the ether. It's a world unto itself, but one that has a direct line to the 'real' world of living, breathing, relating human beings. But sometimes it feels that this virtual world is taking over.
The month I was away from Facebook, I got a lot done. I made a garden, read a few books, connected with people (in person, by phone, via snail mail, etc.), I wrote a few pieces (most still in progress and not yet published), joined a music group, went paddling, skiing and biking and all the usual things that I tend to do. I recertified my Wilderness First Responder over a beautiful weekend in Squamish, stayed with friends on Bowen Island, and designed and delivered a super cool mindfulness-in-nature workshop for educators and planned a writing and mindfulness retreat. I also walked the dog, stared into space a lot more than is usual these days, and breathed in a whole bunch of forest/ocean/river/mountain air. I am betting that there were subtle differences in how much attention I gave the things that I did. And I can guarantee that all that staring into space and the lack of compulsive clicking and post-planning (even if it's unconscious) gave my brain some much needed recoup time and space. I was most definitely more creative in those four weeks.
The other thing I've reflected on since returning to Facebook this week, is the nature of connection. Or more precisely about feeling connected. I think Facebook (and I would guess, other social media) feels to us like being privy to that whispered lunch room conversation. We get to feel connected to a community of sorts, and are allowed to comment, approve or disapprove, empathize and sympathize with anyone we want to feel affiliated with. Although we know it is a public platform and one that is curated by the user (and the corporation), it's a forum where people can sometimes be quite vulnerable. We are often using our 'inside' voices - you know, the ones that we may not speak in public, but are willing to 'share' publicly when we are hidden behind a profile and keyboard in a room out of sight. It is a strange intimacy that in some way simulates a sense of belonging and even acceptance.
For the likes of me (an extroverted introvert who sometimes expresses myself well in writing) Facebook can sometime replicate the feel of a gathering. In real life, I love being part of a familial crowd and derive a huge sense of safety, belonging and positive esteem when I am amongst my 'people'. It's something I had a lot of when I was in my twenties and thirties, living as I did in small like-minded basecamps filled with other outdoors people. I thrived on living and working together in close proximity. Social gatherings were spontaneous and low stress. I could be a fly on the wall or at the centre of the chaos and feel similarly 'part of' and an accepted and valued member of the group. I felt a sense of belonging in ways that I never truly did in my family home or growing up in school. As I have gotten older, and moved away from many of these tight-knit communities (and as many of them have dissolved due to life stage, bascamp closures or other factors) I am acutely aware of how much I miss and sometimes feel a lack of that intense sense of belonging.
I think this is what we are attuned to about Facebook and other social media. Every time we log on and get a 'like' or comment, we feel a sense of connectedness, being 'part of'. Although it's fleeting and in reality devoid of much substance it gives us a 'hit' of social acknowledgment. The more likes and comments the better. But it ultimately leaves us craving more - hence all the checking, scrolling and liking. We are trying to find our way back to our people, one emoji at a time.
Last summer I found myself sitting around a long table at a pub one evening after working a successful and powerful wilderness program. I had parachuted in to work the course and I was surrounded by some people I knew well, and others I had just met. Whether we knew much about each other or not, As I sat there in the late afternoon sun I had an overwhelming sense of being in my place, with my clan. There have been other such moments this year for me, most have involved making an effort to connect with the people I love and make a plan (sometimes involving a lot of logistics) to get together. It is always worth it.
The feeling of connection I get from these times tends to last days or even weeks, and even now I still hold in my bones a residual feeling of belonging. It feeds my soul, and I gives me a sense despite everything all is right in my world. The shine of those times takes a while to rub off.
I think this is what we get a glimmer of in the world of social media - a feeling of being surrounded by 'friends'. But it is more like a chimera because the moment it is felt it dissipates, and demands that we return to the illusory oasis of belonging for another drink. Social media can be fun and connecting at best, but it is a bucket full of holes.
To Be Continued (maybe)
