On Going Ghost
How our desire to be perceived has left us more misunderstood and disconnected than ever
Four weeks ago I deleted Instagram. It was during a particularly stressful time in my life and for the first time ever I had found myself falling into the downward spiral of comparison and searching—for what I do not know. I have always been secure in my sense of self, I am loud and proud about who I am and what I stand for, but my feed lately had been funnelling me all sorts of 'suggested for you' profiles and posts I was not particularly interested in finding, and fuck was it getting to me—funny how the algorithm knows exactly what wounds to press on. So as I sat alone one evening crying for the third time that week over a photo of another woman (she was beautiful and I have no hate for her, these tears are never really about the person in the post), I knew it was time for it to go. I held down on the little pink icon and hit 'remove app,' yes 'delete app.' I felt isolated, conflicted and frankly over it—time for a fresh start.
At first this cutting of ties to the alien reality that is Instagram provided me with a sense of relief—after I had gotten past the reflex of searching for it between sets at the gym, yet beginning to surpass this relief at the freedom I now had, was a surmounting sense of dread—a fear of being forgotten.
Thus I began to think; why in a world where we are so readily accessible are we more disconnected and lonely than ever. Why are we so desperate to be seen, to be perceived—could it be because we are so lonely? Is social media creating and perpetuating this toxic cycle where the lonelier we get the more we market ourselves in order to be 'found'? But the more time we focus on the online version of ourselves the less time we spend actually connecting and developing our skills to build and maintain healthy relationships. And in the end, we only end up alienating ourselves more.
Our culture is built in such a way now that if you are not present online, you will very quickly fade into non-existence, the back corners of people's memory— it can happen suddenly, and it’s scary, this potential to be replaced; forgotten. This is through no malice of those existing in your online space, its just simply how our brains are wired now; we are easily distracted, and quick to move onto the next shiny thing- so quick we don't even notice the absence of what we are filling. Without the constant stories and posts to keep you in people's line of sight, we are now set to forget.
I noticed this in particular when I deleted Instagram: no one noticed. Why? Well earlier this year I had already taken steps to ensuring my social media was filled only with those I would actually connect with in person- and those lingering few who I didn’t? Well the second I wasn't posting funny quips or photo of my ass, they just found the next best option.
I am lucky that for most of my life I have kept my circle intentionally small; if you are in my world it is because I truly trust you. I have never bothered to maintain shallow acquaintances; surface level friendships aren't really my thing. Either we are made of the same soul stuff or we won't speak, and for a long time now I have prioritised giving people my phone number over my Instagram handle. I want to connect with people, not just observe, so if I choose you I don't just want to be a passive spectator, I want us to be present and giving one another the effort we deserve. I am so grateful to have a best friend who will rack up 5 hours of phone call time with me, not because we called for anything in particular, but just to be in one another’s company. I have beautiful friends who will pop by for dinner on a Sunday night, friends with who 12 hours of the day just pass by in the blink of an eye. There is just as much joy in the un-curated moments as the big events. Quality friends, not quantity. My circle is small because I am not easily accessible.
… and Instagram makes us scarily accessible. It has become so easy for people to 'know' us and for us to feel like we are surrounded with friends, lovers, admirers, team members, at all times—a like of a story here, a quick meme sent there. But what happens when you take all that away? How many can you really say would make the effort to call you? To text you about their day, and ask in turn about yours—rather than waiting to see it pop up in a carefully curated photo, the perfect snapshot of what you want people to see you as. How many of those people would think of you organically, reach out to you unprompted just because they are interested, just because they care. Instagram gives us the illusion that we are much more popular than we really are (sorry to say it).
This illusion of community and popularity has made me fearful. I worry so much about our ability to exist side by side. We no longer do life together; we live on seperate planets that occasionally crash into each others orbits—catching up over a hastily scheduled wine, a coffee, a walk, but even that is often too much effort so we will just a send a few spaced out, half-arsed 'how have you beens?' We are always playing catch-up, yet we are so rarely doing together. When did we get too busy to have relationships (and I am not just talking about romantic relationships); we are all so self-important that we no longer even want to make time to share life. Now of course, there are times when yes we are too busy, but these days it seems to be more of an excuse than a reality.
When I think to the friendships my mother had when I was growing up—that she still has, they saw each other often, in pre-planned, organised ways that were consistently marked in their calendars: book club, dinners, netball, friends she would scrapbook with, a cup of tea on a Sunday friend. And these people were not isolated to just one lane of her life—they would get together to do the most mundane things when they didn't have the big things planned, people were introduced to each other and a community was built—without Instagram suggested for you’s, locations being shared, Snapchat streaks. They would talk, for hours, there was never a phone at the dinner table; candles would burn down to the wick into the small hours of the morning as my parents and their friends shared their thoughts about the world, their lives, their hopes and dreams. They didn't need external stimuli or distractions. They thoroughly enjoyed just being together.
Nowadays though, we are so dictated by our need to be seen and our shocking new need to be independent and individual that we don’t often come together in authentic ways. Honestly, are we not all lonely? How much of what you do, do you curate for an image of yourself you are trying to build for others? If you could choose who you let in, would your whole following still remain? If you had to give each one of your online 'social group' time of day—a text, a phone call, a photo update, an invite to meet up, would you? And would it look the same as what you post on your story? And again, do you think they would reach out to you if you were no longer in their direct line of sight?
I am so scared for our perception of true connection, and our ability to decipher who is real, and what we really want when we are not displaying it.
Now please don't think I am blaming us for this behaviour, no, I completely understand why we do it. Underlying this need to display everything comes back to my initial point: we are so desperate to feel connected, to feel seen, understood and adored, yet we have completely lost touch with how to ask for these needs to be met. It’s all very conflicting and convoluted.
A prime example of this is the way we post a story, or a photo, curated with one person in mind. Don't lie to yourself we have all done it—men and women alike. We post and wait for our target audience—friend, lover, ex, girlfriend, boyfriend, colleague, to click view or ‘like’ to give us a sign of life, and maybe the hope that now they will reach out first. We want to speak to people so badly, yet we go to such lengths to avoid a simple message, 'hey, you're on my mind.' We cannot even talk to the people in our lives, we resort to games daily. We are so fearful of rejection, that we are no longer true to ourselves—we walk around wearing our ‘persona’ like armour and it is heavy. We are so disillusioned, and lacking social skills in a world that needs community more than ever.
So how do we get out of this? I am not going to sit here and say that deleting all social media is the answer- nor is it realistic. I am back on Instagram now, although with a few more roadblocks and much more intentional interaction—I regularly delete the app for breaks, I’m learning it is quite nice to unplug for a bit.
Unfortunately, we cannot go back in time and rewire our brains to have better attention spans, to forget social media, to be less self-centred and obsessed—to think of people without seeing them, but we can make a start. And to clarify, I am certainly not trying to diminish how important it is to know how to be independent and have moments to yourself—trust me, I live alone, I love my me time, I would go insane without this privilege. But I worry we wear our independence as a point of pride that is fast becoming a hurdle to learning the art of connection.
So what are the small steps we can take to learn how to connect again, and how can we allow social media to be present in a more authentic way? How can we use social media rather than it using us.
Here are my suggestions:
Filter your following list. Its going to bruise your ego to lose followers and likes—but quality over quantity I say. You may ruffle some feathers, but that is just other people getting wrapped up in their own narratives and egos, they will forget the moment you are no longer directly in-front of them.
Start actually connecting with the people you know IRL. Call your friends, update them on your day, and ask about theirs; invite them over to work alongside you, book things in, plan your lives together. Stop thinking you have to do everything alone, stop waiting for the perfect moment to include people—you don't need an event, a birthday, or an excuse. Just let yourself enjoy coexisting. But a word of advice, if you want to keep people, you do owe them your time, you do owe them effort—even if that effort is as simple as extending an invite to just be there. The cost of community is inconvenience.
Speak your truth. Ask for your needs to be met, share how you really feel, stop being nonchalant—you are allowed to be excited, let down, joyous, in love, angry. Tell people you love them. Say what you want. Over time, you will find this to be the quickest way to ensure you are surrounded by your people. Let people walk out, its okay; but also, let people in—you don’t need to do it all alone.
I can feel the call to action in young people—we are seeing the rise of book clubs again, dinner parties, run clubs and blogs; we so badly want community and human connection, and we are making tracks to relearn the art of conversation, community and sharing.
So maybe you go ghost like I did for a bit to challenge yourself and learn about your relationship with social media, or perhaps you simply limit your online time; maybe you cull your following, or you might call that friend you would usually just wait to message when they show up in your feed. Whatever it looks like for you; go do it.
Happy connecting.
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