If something happens in real life, but you don’t post about it on social media, did it really ever happen?
This is often said in jest, to poke fun at our collective obsession with recording and posting so much of our lives online, but it strikes a very real nerve.
As a millennial who learned how to use social media with Myspace and Xanga before graduating to Facebook when it was only for college students, I’ve been sharing my life online since I was a teenager. I joined Twitter as an adult and Instagram much later, and have yet to fully embrace TikTok and the other platforms Gen Z and younger are active in. I’ve been looking into Twitter alternatives lately and feel quite overwhelmed. So in some spaces I am a fluent user, and other spaces just a tourist, frantically reading guide books and learning new vocabulary in order to understand the culture and language.
We go online to maintain connection with loved ones, to encounter new ideas, to connect with strangers, to be entertained, to learn, to express opinions, and to project a curated image of ourselves to those people. We record thoughts and memories and photos for the present moment, but also for our future selves to look back on. It’s a fascinating and fraught dimension of our ordinary lives.
In IRL: Finding Our Real Selves in a Digital World, Chris Stedman writes:
“Social media can seem like it’s inherently designed to address our fear of empty spaces; when I’m bored or restless, I feel the urge to go on Twitter. Of course, many of these platforms’ algorithms are designed to get us to post and like more, but the fear of blank spaces looms large on social media itself, too. Sometimes, when I haven’t tweeted all day, I feel like I should. I’m afraid to leave the space blank. We often talk about FOMO, or fear of missing out, but what about FOOMO: fear of others missing out (on seeing the things we’re doing). Instead of just existing on the smaller scale of our friends, our neighbors, or the family two pews back, this fear is now often intensified by the feeling that we also need to consider the opinions of distant internet observers.”
The “distant internet observers” in my social networks are easily divided into two groups: My public Twitter and Instagram accounts are mostly for my professional connections. And my private Facebook and Instagram lists are comprised of an eclectic collection of people I’ve had some kind of meaningful interaction with since I was a child. These include childhood friends and also friends of my parents, distant relatives, former coworkers, college friends and acquaintances, church friends, friends in other countries, parents of my children’s friends who are becoming my friends, neighbors, my cousins, siblings, parents and in-laws, and on and on.
These disparate individuals—many who I haven’t seen in-person in over a decade—take up an oversized presence in my life. On a daily basis I consider what this disconnected collective might like me to share or how they might respond to an article or opinion I express. I sometimes pause before sharing something I know will be provocative, weighing whether or not I have the energy to debate with someone I barely know anymore.
Stedman writes in IRL about the experience of reaching for your phone when enjoying a moment rather than existing in the moment itself, in order to record and share it. And how sometimes we even prioritize activities and experiences specifically because we know they’ll look good on social media or will make a “sensational story to thread.” We even adapt how we tell a story, based on what we’ve learned our social media audiences will respond to. This extends to sharing more vulnerable aspects of our lives or expressing an unpopular opinion. Sometimes we look back at things we’ve posted in the past and cringe, regretting what we shared. Stedman writes:
“Social media also makes it all too easy to post thoughts that we should keep to ourselves, at least in their infancy. Not only do our digital platforms invite us to share whatever we’re thinking about the moment it occurs to us, but they also encourage us to share them on the record, no matter how embryonic they might be.”
In recent months, even though my addiction to scrolling hasn’t gone away, my interest in sharing everything has slowed. The political conflict, disinformation, bullying, and capitalistic nature of social media has left a bad taste in my mouth. Even though I am fairly guarded about who I let into my personal accounts and what personal information I share on my public accounts, I sometimes feel uneasy about how, why, and what I’m posting. I am also trying to be more thoughtful about what photos and details of my children’s lives I post online, even in my private accounts. They deserve privacy too.
Recently I looked around my digital community spaces and realized something surprising. The people I interact with most regularly online are not the same people I interact with most often in person. And my closest friends rarely post anything at all. What I know about them I know through actual conversations, whether in person or through instant messaging. Maybe all along they’ve known something I’m only just now starting to figure out:
Not everything in life needs to be shared with your entire online network.
This might seem so obvious to you, but to me it feels kind of revolutionary. Lately, when I encounter something in nature that makes me pause in wonder or my kids say something funny or I have a fun evening with friends, I take secret delight in not taking a photo or posting about it online. Like it’s somehow more special knowing that it’s just for me or me and the people I experienced it with. A public announcement or permanent record is not necessary and in fact may take away or cheapen the moment.
I’ve always edited out the messier parts of my life, reserving that kind of authenticity for trusted friends. But perhaps the little moments of joy, the celebrations, and ordinary delights retain a deeper significance when not posted widely for likes and comments from everyone else too.
Even as I start this newsletter, I’m attempting to reimagine how and why I share about my life online and for whom. Writing a longer form piece like this takes a lot more thought than a Facebook post or a tweet. My audience goes beyond my personal acquaintances and family members and beyond people who follow me for professional reasons. I hope what I have to say resonates with you beyond just learning something about my life, even as I reflect and write about the ordinary.
I’m not abandoning social media, even though I think about it every six months or so (and I’m quite concerned about the new ownership at Twitter HQ). I find it too valuable to give it up. But I am evaluating how I use it and why. I want to have a healthier relationship with social media as just one of the tools for connecting with people. And savoring all the things I choose not to put on the social media record. Real life is so much bigger than a social media timeline.
How about you? What’s your relationship with social media and how you filter and share your real life?
Thanks for reading,
—NK
Photo credits: Erik Mclean on Unsplash; Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash; DESIGNECOLOGIST on Unsplash
Naomi, so enjoyed your post today! And felt the irony of commenting on your blog lol, but I wanted to! I think your posts make such thoughtful writing group topics. Can’t wait to chat about this one!