I think a lot about connection
I think a lot about disconnection
I think a lot about connection. I think a lot about disconnection.
I think about how our lives now are designed to keep us tethered to these pieces of metal and plastic and chemical elements in our pockets rather than experiencing connection IRL, as the kids say (do they still say this?).
I recently removed all the social media apps from my phone. Not a digital detox as such, more as a reaction to the scary realisation of how dependent I was on this thing. I found myself reaching for my phone, unlocking it and navigating to the folder of social media apps before I had fully registered I was doing it. I found myself going into FB, IG or whichever app I unconsciously coupled with a kick of dopamine, then getting distracted from the real world and drawn into the make-believe world on the screen.
Perhaps I should say, I lost myself.
None of this is news. I’m not the only one. The vast amount of content about digital detoxes, screen-free retreats, and analogue productivity systems (i.e. a notebook) shows how much we’re all aware of the problem.
But what I struggle with most is the issue of disconnection.
I know we’re taking responsibility for our feelings these days and not blaming outwardly without first looking inwardly at our own responsibility – however, I do blame social media for drawing us into worlds where we feel more alone. We’re encouraged (some may say forced) by algorithms to create echo chambers around ourselves with people who think the same way we do about a particular issue. The problem here is that not only are we closed off to other points of view, but we are also limited to focusing on that one thing. I don’t know about you, but I know for sure that I’m feeling more than one thing at a time about most issues, and grappling with a whole bunch of other issues at any given moment. As a result, we are isolated both within and without our echo chambers.
That’s lonely.
Another thing that makes me feel lonely? Comparison. Looking away from my life and into the lives on my screen, lives that I know are curated and edited, and then looking back at my life with… disappointment? Disillusionment? A sense that I should be doing more, having more, creating more? A sense of falling behind, or making the wrong choices?
Whatever that feeling is, it doesn’t feel good.
What’s the solution? Recognising these detrimental impacts and choosing not to fall down the rabbit hole of isolation and comparisonitis is a step, and I’m working on this. Obviously disentangling myself from the tentacles of social media is another possible step, and I’m incrementally working on this too. But there’s something else that’s helping hugely, and that’s seeking out connection. The IRL stuff.
When I’m in a room with other writers, like I was at Amy I Beeson’s meetup this month, I didn’t feel lonely – I felt excited meeting other writers and creating friendships that weren’t there before. I didn’t feel isolated – I felt part of a community of writers who were all trying to crack this thing called Substack. I didn’t fall into comparison – instead I felt comforted that so many of us were experiencing the same challenges, knowing it wasn’t just me.
Later that weekend, I caught up with a crew of freelance parents who I’ve known and loved for almost eight years. I met these friends online in an amazing community called Doing It For The Kids run by my wonderful mate Frankie Tortora. We have been through a whole bunch of great and hard things together, and I never would have met them if not for an online FB group. Thankfully, this community is not on FB these days and has moved to a platform without advertising or algorithms. Regardless, there’s nothing like seeing these humans in person. I didn’t feel lonely – I felt surrounded by friends with shared stories and in-jokes. I didn’t feel isolated – I felt connected and supported as we all try to juggle parenthood and freelance life. I didn’t fall into comparison – our trusted space meant we could share all the hard things, the broken things, the scary things.
I know IRL meetups aren’t for everyone. And I’m also aware that some people thrive through online connection. But for me, the online world isn’t enough. As much as it has given us, and there’s no question that we have access to communities and income-making opportunities that we would never have had without the online world, I still struggle with what it takes from me – attention, presence, peace of mind.
And of course, I realise the supreme hypocrisy of writing this on an app that promotes long-form writing to, that’s right, hold our attention. I’m not unaware that I’ve perhaps traded the short-attention-span stealing apps for long-attention-span stealing apps, and as they’re all stealing my attention, isn’t that the same thing? I’m not sure, maybe because on this app I’m able to financially support the writers I read and filter the writing I see. I don’t feel like I’m being sold to, nor do I feel like I’m being shown particular content with an agenda. There may come a time when we have to pay to play on here, and we’ll all have to deal with that in a way that aligns with our values and our bank accounts.
Perhaps that’s even more reason to cultivate connection in real life, out in the world? Apps and tech bros can kill lots of things – online connection, truth, democracy, etc – but they can’t really do that if we’re down at the pub having a pint with a mate, or meeting up with other writers at a restaurant, or taking our kids to the park with a neighbour.
I guess, the choice is ours.
I've come to re-evaluate where I find my connection. I'm sure it has something to do with growing older and deciding where best to spend my time but I often feel that some of my best days are where I have connected with the people I least expected - the postman, the bus driver, the person who sells me my coffee, a fellow substack writer! :) ...Those small interactions sometimes feel more fulfilling than friendships I have had for decades that are supposedly the people I am connected to the most. I think we tell ourselves stories about who and how we should be connected which actually blinds us to the opportunities that are available to us if we were only open enough to see them.
It’s such a delight to find you here, and I wonder a lot about the trust that goes into the connections we make online - and how those trust leaps are enabled in the right conditions.
There’s something so tangible about IRL, this idea that there is a bit of a capacity on the social cup on how many folk we can connect with in a day, in the coffee shop, meeting for a walk.. etc vs the uncontrollable spread of connection online - that is almost paradoxical because when we give ourselves to online spaces we have to surrender a little bit to some algorithm.