I've been a bit of a recluse online, retreating into my own blog, a sort of long-form journal that's technically public but no one really cares to view (and I don't care to promote). I see it as a glorified photo album and my own personal pensieve, for the Harry Potter fans out there. I do deeply value this medium. Every time I switch to a new blog, I convert the old one into a physical book, and when I most need it, I sit down and literally flip through the life I've led. I get visual and written reminders of the journey that's gotten me where I am, and the person I was along the way. But it's all about me.
Like most early millennials, I was thrilled to get my .edu email address that opened up access to the world of Facebook, a social media platform for connecting with my friends as we took our first steps into the shallow end of adulthood and started learning to swim. I loved posting silly thoughts and photos, commenting on my friends updates, and learning about the milestones and accomplishments of the people I loved (or loved to hate). But over the years, as the platform became crowded, as the algorithm evolved to pull us into camps and push us towards extremism, the once joyful digital town square turned dark. I stopped engaging, and didn't quite know where to turn.
On Nico's encouragement, now that I'm a runner (I guess), I joined Strava. It's a platform to share your workouts and accomplishments. It's mostly centered around GPS-tracked activities like bike rides and runs but I'm stretching its limits by folding in my circus work. And I kind of love it: suddenly, I'm sharing things; I'm getting kudos; I'm seeing and celebrating all the awesome things my friends are doing! It's a wonderful reminder of the early innocence of social media. And I'm realizing how much I've missed those human connections, something that Strava can't really solve: Foremost among Strava's shortcomings is that hardly everyone is on it: I've only got about 10 friends there.
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| Through Strava, I've been rediscovering the joys of simpler social media. And I'm not sure how to feel about it. |
Like a coin running ever tightening circles around a funnel, I'm feeling my excitement over this new platform drawing me to the inevitable conclusion that it's time I crawl back to social media. But I also hate social media, enough that I'm writing this whole blog post. I hate the posturing. I hate the performative nature. And I hate being a product consumed by some amorphous tech giant munching data that I haven't even knowingly generated. I don't like the machines knowing me better than I know myself. (Rich coming from a person literally designing tech to read straight from your brain, I know.)
In the best of worlds, social media can be a beautiful way to extend contact with loved ones. It can also drive extremism, FOMO, and a complete conviction that everyone else is happy and definitely knows what they're doing and is living a life according to plan without any hiccups or detours. There isn't really a clear answer, though in the absence of moral imperative, pursuing happiness is probably right. I am just surprised this is the route it's taking me, and unsure how to take the next step.
In a post-pandemic/Trump 2.0 era, as someone who's officially no longer young, as someone who plans to soon have responsibility over the lives of one or more tiny human beings, what even is the right way to engage with social media? What do I share? What do people care to know? I don't have the answers. Sometimes being human is just so exhausting.
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