There's a new feature on Facebook called Timeline that helps you assemble your life story on the Internet. I haven't switched to Timeline yet, but the tutorial page is full of slick graphics and videos with inspiring music that I have no doubt would make my own life story a lot more compelling. Displaying the story of our lives online shows that we have come a long way since the days of AOL Instant Messenger and its clunky "buddy info" and "away messages." Each month, 30 million people still log onto Instant Messenger, according to AOL. I'm not sure how they measure this exactly it's probably inflated, but even so, that number wouldn't shock me. Remember middle school? AIM was the go-to for talking to other kids, typically of the opposite sex, without being unbelievably awkward.
Remember having long online conversations with people that you could hardly even say "hi" to in the hallways the next day? I wouldn't say it was the healthiest way to learn how to interact, but considering we came of age right around the same time that the Internet became a legit thing, perhaps it was unavoidable.
My friend commented the other night that our generation is now dealing with the repercussions of our AIM upbringing, namely our aversion to connecting with other people in real life. We've progressed to more "mature" forms of online living, like email and Facebook, but the issue remains the same: Online living simply can't replace the real thing. It's hard to make this argument without sounding like a grumpy old man, but bear with me.
Humans are flawed beings. Unless you grew up alone in a forest, you know this by now. Not everyone knows your flaws, but people you're close to, like family members and roommates, most certainly do. When you live in close proximity with others, your flaws inevitably come to the surface, from going spazoid on your roommate for eating your last pack of Nutter Butters, to avoiding confrontation yet again with your mom over some long-held grievance.
Interacting on the web is a different story. When you respond to an email, you have time to formulate a response that shows only your best, most reasonable side. Our Facebook selves are tinged with sepia-toned memories and quotes that we carefully choose to represent some essential aspect of our being. For myself, having confidence online is easy because I am undoubtedly funnier and more insightful online than I am in person.
The best parts of a person, though, are the things that can't be scripted, the things that come out spontaneously in speech and action and catch us by surprise. So when Facebook becomes so ubiquitous in our lives that we habitually "stalk" one another's profile pages before we even meet in person, we can lose out on those moments of instinctual expression that actually say something about who we are. It sets up unrealistic expectations of ourselves and of other people. The keyboard filters our thoughts, and our Facebook pages project a sketch with only our best features. But human beings just aren't that clean. And thank God, because if we were, we'd be incredibly uninteresting.
Humans are endlessly curious about each other. It's why we watch TV shows and read books, and it's also why we scope out people's Facebook pages. The very term "Facebook stalking" displays an awareness that looking at other people's displayed lives without them knowing is a bit voyeuristic. It's not a one-way street though it's a collective act of voyeurism, of seeing others and being seen without ever knowing exactly who is watching whom.
Looking at each other on screens from the safety of our own rooms is part of the thrill, but when you think about it in the abstract, it's basically the opposite of increased human connection, which was the point of the Internet and Facebook in the first place.
With every new innovation, Facebook seems to come closer to an integrated representation of life. But it begs the question: Why do we feel a need to have such perfect visual representations of our lives in the first place?
Instead of seeing ourselves, maybe we should just be experiencing ourselves, experiencing the mystery of our being and all its spontaneous, unpredictable iterations, rather than trying to control everything so we'll look more appealing.
Facebook Timeline might seem like a gigantic leap from our AOL days, but when you take away the bells and whistles, I can't help but think that maybe we're in the same place we were 10 years ago a bunch of kids willing to write pages and pages about ourselves online, but afraid of what might come out if we actually let something loose through our real voices.
