Who I am online is who I am
A friend of mine posted something on Facebook today that made me angry. And this isn’t just some “Facebook acquaintance,” like an old high school classmate who wanders into my virtual world, wishes me a Happy Birthday, and then disappears for another 364 days. This is a woman who lives and breathes in the same town as me. We see each other often. We run in the same circles. We know the same people. We both love Jesus. We agree on probably the majority of opinions about marriage, children, money, faith and even politics. But not this. Clearly, after reading her shared article, not this.
I’ve heard about the facebook algorithms that because of the way they are configured, tend to circle you back around to “news” and “friends” who share your same opinions, especially the more controversial ones, and simultaneously filters out those who may have an opposing point of view. It’s often referred to as the filter bubble and it’s dangerous, not just because it narrows your access to information and other perspectives, but it also builds a sense of “Everyone I know LOVES to hear my opinions because LOOK! Almost all the comments I got agreed with me!” But the silver lining of the filter bubble was that until this moment, when something unexpected shifted in the algorithm and her opinion jumped into my news feed, I hadn’t had to face the harsh reality that this friend and I staunchly disagree on this hot button topic.
My fingers itched to type a scathing reply, full of snopes.com links, vetted academic research, and my moral high ground. My now sky-high blood pressure from reading her post only fueled my racing mind as I mentally edited the opening line of my comment. I internally debated which silver bullet I would use to shatter her seemingly ridiculous theory. Friendship be damned, I couldn’t just let this falsehood stand, could I? As an enneagram 8, it felt like a crime to not stand up against this misinformation. I could feel my heart beating faster in both anger and frustration. I forced myself to take a deep breath, and then again, and again until at least my physical body wasn’t quite so primed for a fight. I was reminded then of another post I’d seen recently on Facebook. It’s a pie chart labeled “Outcome of Political Arguments on Facebook.” There are three options; green for “You change your mind,” blue for “They change their mind,” and red for “No one changes anything and everyone’s pissed.” The joke is, of course, that the entire pie chart is red. Really, that pie chart is accurate for any kind of argument made on Facebook. It’s simply not the place people come to share differing points of view and openly learn from others. I calmed down and reflected on how close I’d come to blasting her with every gun I had in my mental arsenal. I closed the post and clicked away.
Who you are online is who you are. It’s something we’ve been teaching our kids as they learn to navigate the digital world. At their ages, the discussion feels more black and white. Bullying people online still makes you a bully. Protect your reputation by being careful about what you share. Learn to identify fact versus fiction on the internet. Bad choices online have real-life consequences, so think twice before you click. When in doubt, don’t type it, click it, or share it. These seem like simple rules to follow, even for children. But as an adult, I find I waiver when faced with posts like my friend’s. If I say nothing, do I share in the blame when falsehoods continue to spread? How do I feel when people I know and care about share, write or perpetuate harmful or at least ignorant ideas? Is adding to this conversation actually helping clarify things, or just stirring the pot? Is the right answer to walk away, or to engage? I find I wrestle with these internal conflicts far too often for my own liking. For me, when I feel that soul poking tug-of-war between righting wrongs at any cost and being a peacemaker, I have to remind myself: Who I am online is who I am. I must remind myself of this every time I start my computer or pick up my phone. That not only applies to what I chose to share, like, or add to the collective conversation, but to how I will respond when faced with the online choices of others. Contrary to virtual reality, in the real world, no-one cares about my opinion as much I do. If my point of view on this controversial topic is a surprise to this friend, perhaps we need to spend more real world time together, or at least debate it over a cup of coffee like civilized people. The more I repeat my social media mantra to myself, Who I am online is who I am, the more clicking elsewhere feels less like avoidance and more like wisdom.
