(This is yet another brain dump post…)
Earlier this week I was talking to someone about some of the difficulties I was having connecting with people via social media. I have difficulty connecting with others in general, but lately I’ve found that with respect to online communities, I’m missing out on some very valuable clues which are so vital in conveying people’s true emotions or agendas. When I was talking to this person, I mentioned that it kind of felt like having some sort of Asperger’s-by-way-of-social-media.
I’ll try to explain what I mean. One of the key characteristics of someone with Asperger’s syndrome is a tendency to misinterpret another person’s facial expressions or tone of voice. People with Asperger’s can, for example, go on long-winded monologues about a subject without being able to see that the person they’re talking to is uncomfortable, or wants to leave the conversation. They also lack the ability to read nuances in speech or body language.
In real life I can usually read these signals pretty well, but it seems that when I’m online I lose any ability to actually understand what people are saying to me. By the same token, I feel like people don’t really understand me anymore when I’m trying to get a point across.
I’ll give you an example. Recently, an acquaintance expressed a desire to discuss a book we both had read. She wanted to talk about one theme in the book, and I wanted to talk about another. Without going into detail, I got the sense that this acquaintance thought that I was trying to hide something from her, perhaps hiding an unpopular or unsavoury opinion, but that wasn’t the case.
When I participate in online communities or even in email correspondence, I try to choose my words carefully, so carefully in fact that sometimes I feel I’ve leached out all emotion and made the words essentially meaningless. I think I’m being gentle with my words, but people’s reactions tell me that they’re interpreting the things I say completely different from how I mean them. That’s what happened in this case, and that’s what has happened in many other recent situations.
Because I live so far away from the people I consider friends, I have come to depend heavily on online communication for staying in touch. What I have learned over the last few years is that these purely online connections are deeply unsatisfying for me. I need to see people, to hear them laugh, to see their eyes crinkle up at the corners, and study the shape of their lips as they form a smile in order for me to feel really and truly connected to them. I need to be able to touch hands, rub shoulders, and feel that the tug on the fibres that knit us close together in the first place.
This isn’t about loneliness. It goes beyond that.
But back to the Asperger’s thing. I haven’t always felt this way. I used to think that online communication was great, was easy, and was a surefire way of making the kinds of friends that you could have for the rest of your life. But as technology has changed, as we’ve shifted away from blogging to Twitter, to Facebook and Friendfeed, the nature of our communication has changed as well. Instead of sharing stories and sparking conversations, we’re leaving status updates. We say where we are and post what we’re doing, but less about what we’re thinking or feeling because you can’t fit that into 140 characters.
My focus narrows, I start to shut myself off more, to restrict my interactions further because it is easier for me to go off and do my own thing rather than face the risk of hurting others or being hurt by others.
I can’t make meaning out of 140 characters. I can’t build (or sustain) friendships — true, honest to goodness, ride-or-die friendships — in 140 characters. I need space to explain, to understand, to comprehend, to hear and be heard.
These days, more often than not, all I hear is my own voice echoing back in my ears.
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