2023, the year of the capitulation?

I started this blog with obvious ideals in mind (that I have already repeated countless times): 1) as an alternative to social media and 2) to spend less time online.

What is the reality?

It’s uncomfortable and unfortuante. In the two months since I deleted my 15-year-old social sites, my screen time has actually increased. I still spend an awful amount of time a day scrolling, it’s just that now I read even less interesting and/or informative online fodder, in the form of click bait articles on my Google Chrome homepage. I spend less time on social media, yes, but it has not translated into time better spent.

And what have I missed? A lot, actually. The excitement around a pair of my oldest friend’s beautiful wedding, the first reveals of their professional photos, their first child’s first Christmas, another friend’s engagement, stalking celebrity’s announcements (Brittany Higgins got engaged! Ash Barty is pregnant!), the ability to check out so many business’ profiles for information about their opening hours or vibe, and countless other moments on a sliding scale of significance that I don’t even know I’ve missed - because I wasn’t on socials to know about them— but still feel the absence of.

I’ve lost track of the amount of times I‘ve felt out of the loop, and have annoyed my loved ones because I am not on socials. My husband and I are leaving on a Big Trip in four days and my Mum in particular seems frankly pissed off that there is no easy way for her to check on what we’re up to. And I understand the frustration! A couple, on their honeymoon, with no Instagram or Facebook. We’re acting like it’s 1923 and our trip will begin with a 6 week boat journey to the docks of industrial Liverpool.

So, what is the answer here? Is this a natural reaction to missing the holiday season online? Am I just being weak, or having a quick moment of fomo? Do I only want socials to show off our upcoming holiday? After having my best friend and her husband stay with us over the week and all the times she had to show me what I’d missed, I am beginning to feel like I have been too absolute in my resolution to step away from social media. Perhaps- as is my character- I have taken it too far. I’m not saying a life without social media isn’t worth living, however I’m wondering if it is the one that I actually want. Perhaps I had the balance right already.

Prior to total deletion, I only had socials on my iPad and through the Chrome browser on my phone. This meant that if I wanted to properly waste my time on there (or post), I had to be home, have time to spare, have access to my iPad, and make the conscious decision to grab my iPad for the express purpose of looking at and/or posting on socials. I could have a quick browse through the Chrome browser, but the experience was never that good in the clunky web-based platform, so I tended not to waste hours away on there. This, in retrospect, what a pretty good system. I still had days at home that were wasted online, but they were rare and conscious. But it meant I didn’t miss things, it meant I could message my mates, it meant they could reach me easily as well.

If my decision to delete socials is not decreasing my screen time, or increasing my reading, writing or creative time, or helping me to feel better in any way, and is actually making me feel isolated and Other, then I would rather have balanced and controlled access to contact with my friends and family on socials. Surely that is better than reading any more clickbait articles about Elon Musk’s Twitter takeover that contain more ads than one would imagine possible.

Perhaps, instead, I should begin anew, afresh, with renewed perspective and the chance to curate an online space that is worth having. I don’t mind that I have shed my old accounts, with all their baggage. The idea of starting a new account for the person I am post-30th birthday seems kind of pleasant, in fact.

It’s conflicting, because I don’t like being wrong (who does?) and I know, I really, really know, how harmful social media is and can be on both individual and societal levels. But I am no longer certain that pretending they don’t exist is an answer or a solution. Perhaps they truly are too integrated into society, and I am acting like a person rallying against the automobile, airplane or World Wide Web in the past.

I don’t know the answer, solution, or what I’ll do next. I know what I want to do, and that is come back to the digital world of the online living.

This is something that Jenny Odell discusses in her book How To Do Nothing. She doesn’t believe that exiting is the answer. She believes the problems of the attention economy, persuasive design, and the impact of digital selves can only be understood by participating in the platforms ourselves. It’s a concept that I scoffed at when I read her book, but now believe to be accurate. She can explain it better than I can.

“If doing nothing”, Jenny Odell says, “requires time and space away from the unforgiving landscape of productivity, we might be tempted to conclude that the answer is to turn our backs on the world, temporarily or for good. But this response would be shortsighted... [The] impulse to say goodbye to it all, permanently, doesn’t just neglect our responsibility to the world that we live in; it is largely unfeasible, and for good reason“.

Odell argues for a “political refusal that retreats not in space, but in the mind” a so-called “refusal-in-place”. Running away in the exact way that I have, would be impractical, she says, and would actually be a way of letting the attention economy (and all the tech-bro billionaires) win. It would be admitting defeat against a powerful enemy that society needs us to fight. It would leave social media worse places, with less discussion of alternative ways they could run, exist and contribute to our world. Odell advocates for breaks from our online worlds, but only temporarily. Beyond straight up refusal and self-removal, “[s]ome hybrid reaction is needed. We have to be able to do both: to contemplate and participate, to leave and always come back, where we are needed.”

Perhaps, I have been too rash and single-minded in my decision making, as contemplative and thought out as it was. I am a socialist at heart, and care about the collective. When I lived in London, I collected photos of the thought provocing grafitti I often sumbled across, and have three of the photos framed on our bathroom wall. The one I love the most is scrawled over an advertisement for a new apartment development. “REMEMBER:”, it reads, “YOU ARE ONE, BUT YOU ARE PART OF THE MANY”.

I have removed myself from the many, and focused on being one. Individualism is not a healthy way to run a society. The ability to admit I was idealogically wrong and crawl my way back to social media, tail between legs, might be the first sign that turning 30 really has made me grow up a little.