Social Media Presence, Absence, and Time Travel

Sometimes it feels as though your attention has wandered for just an instant. Then, with a start, you realise that the red plaid cotton shirt with white buttons, the favorite black jeans and the maroon socks with an almost-hole in one heel, the living room, the about-to-whistle tea kettle in the kitchen: all of these have vanished.

You’ve mislocated yourself again.

I like that expression: you’ve mislocated yourself again.

The words come from the prologue to The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger. If you’ve seen the film or read the book, you might recognise them. They refer to the dislocation of time travel (yes, I realise the clue is in the title ) but there is something about the description of being there, and then not there… that captures some of the feeling of disconnect, of dislocation even, that we can get from social media presence, and absence, too.

I’m just back from a short social media absence: I was on holiday in Ireland for 10 days, providing the chance (amongst many other wonderful things) to get stuck into some serious (and not so serious) reading.

This summer’s reading pile included The Time Traveler’s Wife so I could join in a readalong being organised by Amy Palko. The first prompt for discussion is about ways in which we are all, on some level, time travellers, how we move backwards and forwards through time in our minds and hearts, revisiting old wounds (and triumphs), worrying about or fantasising over the future, rarely settled in the present moment.

Too much time online can have a similar effect. Maybe we can’t time travel (yet) but we can move easily across countries, continents, languages, and time zones. We can get lost in online conversations and lose track of time. We can switch on too often and too soon, and lose focus and attention on what’s here, in front of you, in the real world, right here, right now.

And yet being present in the online world matters too. There’s advice aplenty on the importance of a social media presence for individuals, authors, bands, charities, businesses, writers and no doubt time travellers too.

But what does it actually mean to be present online?

Reading is a huge part of the way we spent our time online, but is reading enough to make you feel present? Mostly it leaves me feeling invisible, like I’m not really there, unless I also ‘do’ something to signal I’ve read the post. A comment, a response, a sharing of the link on Twitter or Facebook…

Oh, but that requires signalling that you are ‘there’, and yet, perhaps you do not want to be seen to be there, as you’re not really present, because you don’t have time to be present (noticing, listening, responding, chatting, advising, engaging).

If I am busy, I might post an update on Facebook to let people know I am ‘here’ (where?), safe in the knowledge I don’t need also to be there, in real time. It’s just like pinning something up on a notice board. People can read it at their leisure if they want to - it’s not a conversation starter, it’s just a sign. My presence alongside it is not required.

Whereas Twitter takes time, and it takes presence. You can’t just jump in and jump out again. (Well of course you can, technically, and lots of people do, but it changes the nature and the feel of the interaction. It’s what makes Twitter so powerful, and also so challenging, because it takes time and yes that thing again: presence.)

I don’t draft posts to go out when I’m away any more, because it doesn’t feel right - they don’t resonate in the same way (even if it’s just to my ears). It doesn’t feel right to invite you over when I’m not here - even though I’m not here anyway, most of the time, on the days when I do post and am therefore ‘here’.

Confusing, isn’t it?

And of course these aren’t the only disconnects.

Being Present, and Absent, When You Write

The time traveller asks:

Is there a way to stay put, to embrace the present with every cell?

I thought part of my answer was going to be yes, through writing.

When I am writing, I feel present. I can lose myself in the present, in that moment.

I am committed to showing up in my writing, and honing my writing craft so you feel my presence, so my words feel present.

And yet: when I am not just writing, but thinking about writing, and drafting posts in my head, and walking with a camera in hand which I know will lead not just to photographs, but ideas, and reflections, and poetry, and things I want to share with you, and frame, capture, pass on:

Freeze frame, so even as they are passing me by in the present, they are past…

When I am writing in my head as I so often do, am I present?

Do those who create, and pride themselves on being present through their art, have a tendency also to… be absent?

To drift off, to move behind the closed door* of their creative work, to be, for those round about them, somewhat less than totally present?

When you’re writing, and blogging, and connecting through social media, when you’re sharing ideas, and emotions, and things you’ve learned, seen or wondered at:

are you present, or not?

It’s a conundrum. I think that’s the best I can come up with.

Social media is in essence all about connections and relationships: showing up, through your words, your time, and the ways that you connect and engage. All of those those things will affect the quality of those relationships.

But that time and energy also affects the other relationships you have and need to show up for: the relationships you have with work, with writing, with art, with the big bad world, with family, with friends, with those you love, with the earth, with ourselves.

Is there a logic, a rule to all this coming and going, all this dislocation? Is there a way to stay put, to embrace the present with every cell? I don’t know.

It’s a conundrum… and one we need to learn to live with.

What do you think?

~~~
This post is a contribution to the readalong around The Time Traveler’s Wife, being run by Amy Palko. More information here. Please do join in if you’d like to: there’s no need to blog your responses, you can take part in a variety of ways - you’ll find out more at Amy’s site, and be made to feel very welcome.

* A reference to a quote from the book:

“The hardest lesson is Clare’s solitude. Sometimes I come home and Clare seems kind of irritated; I’ve interrupted some train of thought, broken into the dreary silence of her day. Sometimes I see an expression on Clare’s face that is like a closed door. She has gone inside the room of her mind”

All the other quotes are also from the book.