They start off with the story of Yvette Vickers: tragic, all-too-common tale in which a person dies alone and is not missed or discovered for months or years. Note that while her only 'connections' had been with distant fans in distant places, they all appear to have been by telephone. Facebook makes no appearance save by analogy: like hers, our connections have grown 'broader but shallower'.
I've written myself about the paradox of constant (and incessant) "sharing" in a world where we're increasingly alone. Foursquare will tell you where I am (if, that is, I'm stupid enough to broadcast the fact my house is ripe for any passing burglars); Twitter will give you a stuttering commentary on the minutiae of my existence; watch Youtube and you can even get the video.
And then there's the colossus that is Facebook. Vast beyond imagining (2.7 billion likes/comments a day), all from the comfort of home--
or the convenience of your mobile dev--watch out!
"Does the Internet make people lonely, or are lonely people attracted to the Internet?"
I am well acquainted with both solitude and loneliness, having rejoiced in one and lamented in the other at various points in my life. My childhood was spent in a (largely self-imposed) state of loneliness so profound it was beyond articulation or even notice--how can you be lonely having never experienced anything else? Only after I managed to make friends--one at a time, of course--did I recognize the hermetic life I had led for what it was. I watched as the social butterflies around me scooped up friends seemingly without effort. Few of them wanted anything to do with me. I was led to understand that this was my fault, but not given enough information to correct that fault. Any least attempt of mine to "fit in" only resulted in the walls of my quarantine being hurriedly heightened.
To this day I am uncomfortable in crowds, even if those crowds aren't composed of strangers: I feel my attention being pulled too many ways at once and think I might come apart at the seams. There are relatively few people I feel completely at ease with (Eva, of course, headlines that list). And yet... Although I have at long last made my peace with solitude, enforced solitude grates on me. Connection of any kind is important to me. Like most of us, I'm...complicated.
But I can state with certainty that the Internet is a sure-fire magnet for loneliness and fairly potent treatment for same. I could have told you that all the way back in 1991, when I was first exposed to Usenet and ISCABBS. It was all text back then (the only images I ever saw were ASCII art) but no less powerful for all that. If you're socially awkward, and back then I was the dictionary definition, the Net is a godsend. It entirely removes all the stress of meeting people face to face (and if you've never felt that stress, I envy the hell out of you). It is all too easy to fall head over heels for somebody you've never actually met. I know this: it's happened to me many times.
But note I said treatment. The Internet does not cure loneliness. How can it? You almost always access it alone! Even if you're in actual human company, my experience is that your actual human company fades from view the instant the text comes in or the chat noise burbles out. If you seek out Internet connection over actual human interaction in what the hackers call "meatspace", then you are, by definition, lonely.
I can't fault the Internet for this. To me, it is only the natural evolution of the device that came before: television. All the fears you see enumerated about the Net were once applied to TV. It shortens attention spans. It encourages sedentary behaviour. And it picks away at the social cohesion that defined us as a species before it cast its blue glow over our lives. (I'm convinced there's a reason the Facebook homepage defaults to blue.)
Besides the limitless repository of information-slash-bullshit, the Internet is merely interactive television. What makes it so much more attractive the the boob tube is that interactivity: we're all on it together, even though we're apart. It's 'pseudo-connectedness', and it seems as if many of us are willing to forego real-life connection in its favour. Real life, after all, can get messy. On Facebook, with just a few clicks, you can "unfriend" somebody.
There are three people I've 'subscribed' to on Facebook. For non-Facebook users, that means I'm instantly privy to anything they choose to publicly share. Without divulging names, I'm going to describe these people's actual relationship to me, because it's telling.
Before I do that, I'll tell you this: none of these three people are my wife. There are two reasons I'm not subscribed to Eva. One is that she's by no means a heavy Facebook user. It's used on her time and terms, and she rarely feels the need to post anything at all to her wall. The other, more important reason is that she's right here. As I type this, she's about six feet away, using her own computer. We spend hours like this, and the important thing -- for me -- is that either of us can interrupt the other to exclaim over what we've just learned. If she does post something to Facebook, be it trivial or life-shaking, we've probably talked about it.
One person is a former co-worker...of Eva's, not mine. I'm subscribed to her because (a) she's amazing and (b) it's almost embarrassing how often she posts something that makes me laugh, or think. I hate to be a Facebook leech, 'liking' every little thing. Makes me look clingy and, well, lonely. In my defence, what if I actually do "like" everything? *sigh*
I don't see her often (enough) in real life but she's one of a very few people whom Eva and I would let into our home at any time and without any notice.
Another is an old high school friend I fell out of touch with for a number of years and have since reconnected with. He's got hundreds of Facebook friends. A higher proportion of them are also "real" friends, I'd wager: he's one of the most easygoing and just plain friendly individuals you could ever meet. I don't see him in real life all that often, but each time I do it's as if the last time was last week.
The third person is the most interesting for the purposes of this blog. I went to school with her for all of one year in 1982-83. She wasn't even in my grade; it was a split class. Not long after I joined Facebook in 2007 (good Lord) I got a friend request with a message: "Did you go to Byron Northview P.S. in the eighties?" When I told her that yes, I did, and apologized for drawing an almost complete blank on her name, she told me things I had forgotten about my grade five year. I didn't know whether to be flattered or alarmed. I've since grown to respect and admire this woman and her incredibly precocious children. Eva's friends with her on Facebook as well, and feels the same way. They've never met, and she and I might as well have never met, and yet I count her among my friends. And I'm not talking about the fake Facebook friends. If I had to prune out all the people who (let's be honest) don't really care about me and then weed out those who (let's be honest) I don't really care about...she'd make the cut on my end at least without the slightest hesitation.
There are others I'm not 'subscribed' to who fall into the same category. There's one woman I only know through a former friend...never met her at all...but I chat amiably with her on Facebook as if we were friends of long standing. There's a former co-worker I'm close to--in real life--in large part because Facebook allows us to remain connected. Some of these friendships have a real life component and some I hope will develop one over time. And then there are others--probably half of my Facebook friends--with whom I hardly ever correspond, but for whom I'm available if and whenever they may need a friendly ear. It doesn't cure loneliness, but it sure keeps its more acute pangs at bay.
The trick, as one of the above people recently mentioned, is balance. In that Facebook is no different than anything else in life. All things in moderation. (Including moderation? I'm on Facebook entirely too much). Online or off, friendships take work (though in the best of them it's more like play). If you're not inclined to put in the effort, Facebook can feed the illusion that you have. If you are, Facebook can deepen and enrich actual relationships. It certainly has for me.
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