The internet sometimes conspires to make you feel like an outsider.
This is
particularly the case if you opt out of the horrendous social media conventions we’re all expected to be a part of. Facebook’s the big ugly one for
me; I joined it a few years after it started, largely to help promote mine and
Glyn’s first Edinburgh run in 2008. Once on it, I’d use it both as a chance to
try out jokes (as that’s always been my way) and to keep in
touch with friends - though before long, my friend list stretched far further
than just the people I was close to, to people I’d only just met; it turned new friendships into acquisitions with a Pokémon “Gotta Catch ‘Em
All” aftertaste.
A few years
later, I deactivated my account because it felt unhealthy. Every so often, I restart it, but each time I do, it makes me feel more out of
step, and if the algorithms don’t add up and my posts are
missed, I wind up feeling lonely too; so much for bring people together.
I’ve seen
friendship groups I was once a part of continue without me. I’ve seen people
who used to interact with me gradually stop. Suddenly, my
priorities feel very different, and the fact I'm in a minority makes me feel
out of step. It like shouting in vacuum: the silence is deafening.
The problem with this sort of internet presence is everyone’s trying too hard, and I
include myself in that. As much as I don’t want to play the game, it’s almost
impossible to not judge myself by its parameters. If I say something on
Facebook or Twitter and no-one responds, I feel isolated, and this isolation compounds to makes me feel like I’m on the other side of
soundproofed glass.
That’s why I’d
sooner keep things simple and remain in a small friendship group; the bigger your social network, the more lost in the crowd you become. It’s why companies like Facebook seem so irresponsible to me; Mark Zuckerberg's got a lot to answer for (though at least he pays his tax...)