I miss disappearing. Is that such an odd thing to admit? That I miss fading away the online world and vanishing into life? That I miss going days on end without bumping into another soul? Without compulsively wondering if I should be speaking, posting, feeling, judging, sharing, or doing everything in the public eye? Without feeling utterly bound and trapped by social media, and the monsters it has created to fuel its misery machine?
Disappearing (verb): the act of receding from the world; to be inaccessible by digital means; to go off grid for a time; unseen and unknown to the world; to cease to exist in the minds of the digital masses.
Maybe it stems from growing up in the 90’s. We only owned one computer and phone; neither worked at the same time. We had to share a gaming console among five kids and there was only one TV in the whole house. Meeting friends meant waiting at an agreed upon location for them to show up. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t. Looking back on it all, I realize everything required patience, distance, and a certain familiarity with loneliness. Uncertainty was easier to deal with and embrace. Existing was being present in my own sphere of experiences. It was knowing how to navigate life without hinging on constant social validation. And when social media became rooted in my life, I’d forgotten this.
My grandmother often said these odd little phrases whenever we separated for awhile. One time, it was “distance makes the heart fonder.” Sometimes, ” memories become pretty as pink when we leave everything behind long enough to miss it.” Surprisingly, “don’t look back.” And rarely, “don’t think of me and grandpa too much. You’re ugly when you cry.” At the time, I thought she was trying to say it was okay to walk away and not look back. That it hurt her to see us pained by physical separation. And so we always parted with somewhere between sarcasm and silliness.
But now that I’m older, I wonder if maybe there’s another meaning underneath her words. Maybe it’s not really about absence endearing others to me or them enduring my disappearance, but rather, me finding my way back to feeling a longing for whatever I’ve stepped away from. Or uncovering whatever has disappeared from my life when I was too busy to notice.
It's not really about absence endearing others to me or them enduring my disappearance, but rather, me finding my way back to feeling a longing for whatever I've stepped away from.
I’m deeply grateful for all that technology has given my life. It’s brought the world (and everyone in it) to my fingertips. It’s granted me the ability to access books at my local library (something that was impossible in my childhood) and to escape into Spotify when I need to. It’s connected me with wonderful humans here in the book blogging community. And it’s created a way for me to do the kind of work I love without having to be physically present. I can’t think of a corner of my existence that hasn’t benefited greatly from technology, and I will always keep a fondness in my heart for such advances.
But I can’t shake that feeling to disappear, sometimes—a desire to unplug, to seek out a place where cell phones and Twitter can’t find me. To go back to writing letters and adventuring into the woods and not knowing what day it is. To read unseen and unheard, with only my thoughts to mull over meaning. I’m always so keenly aware of what day it is, of all the books I haven’t read and posts I haven’t finished. Of all the opinions of others. Of all the ways the world is wrong and broken. Part of it is my anxiety disorder, which makes every thought feel like a broken record thundering around my brain and listing all the things I will never have time for. Replaying all the cruel words and actions of those on social media. Constantly at war with the status quo. Constantly tearing myself apart for the sake of perfection.
But the desire to disappear is also necessary to human life. It’s not a longing to run away from the world, but to find solid footing in my own sphere of control. I think it stems from an even deeper need to find small joys in life again; I long to miss the world the way I used to. I long to experience surprise and curiosity rather than a constant state of worry and horror.
And so lately, I’ve been taking steps to unplug and re-establish meaning in my life. To pull away from platforms I’ve poured so much of my worth into and disappear back into the real world where all of these stresses online are trivial, meaningless things. I exchange letters with a dear friend or two. I make time to call or text those who matter, and I turn off my phone or put it on Night Mode during certain hours so I’m not available 24/7 anymore. I’ve ditched apps, people, places, things that bring nothing, but toxic drama into my life. Last November, I deleted my Facebook account and never looked back. A decision so many in my life refuse to accept. I’m slowly untangling myself from Twitter and its mostly toxic masses. It’s made me realize courage is a constant conscious effort.
As much as I’ve loved the communities on both platforms, I just don’t have the mental bandwidth anymore to be present all the time. To witness inhumane acts under the guise of empathy all the time. To hear complaints of things out of my control all the time. To be held responsible for the feelings of others all the time. To pretend to care all the time. To get into fights over books all the time. With a little distance, it’s easy to see just how insidious these experiences can be, especially when you find yourself in the middle of a war over a perfectly logical conversation or a reading circle that feels more like an online cult than a close group of friends.
When you firmly believe in freedom of expression and intellectual discussion, but can’t shake that hesitant hand of fear and anxiety wrapping fingers around your heart.
Disappearing always comes with an initial sense of FOMO. After all, our friends/family, education, entertainment, and employment are tied up into the online life. But after the last few years, I find myself questioning whether I’ve stayed out of a desire to keep those connections or the fear of severing them. Am I hesitating because I’m unsure of what I want, or because of the possibility of consequences? How is this different than an abusive relationship?
Now the need to disappear is a slow, persistent burn in my chest. It’s a quiet warning to remember my own values/morals, and the promise of peace. Unplugging feels almost necessary for survival: it’s a drive for mental clarity and balance. A rebellion to keep my own identity from being twisted and shaped by corrosive interactions. A way of proving to myself that I do not need these social nooses to be successful in any way, that there is more to life than what online can give me. There is more to life that I can gift to myself.
When you unplug, you start to realize how much time we spend online instead of being present. How much energy we give to unkind strangers who don’t deserve it. How often we speak about things we really don’t care about. How much we censor ourselves for public consumption. How often we center others as more important than ourselves. How little we actually know about the world, despite our constant tether to it. Who we truly are underneath it all. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, but only because it gives you the space to see whatever you’re missing for what it is. To see yourself and your relationships with a clearer mind and lighter heart. You begin to notice the little things you’ve been letting slip by: the unspoken relaxation in browsing a small book shop, the feel of sunlight on your skin, the sound of laughter as someone deals an epic smack-down in a game of Uno; the triumph of mastering Japanese in a local meet-up, unexpected handwritten letters, the peace of wandering through nature; patient self-education, the steadiness of true togetherness, and the comfort of good friends who allow you to disagree.
Little-by-little, when I disappear from online, I begin to recall all the things that made me fall in love with life. Hopes I’d had for those around me. Reasons to strive towards being a better human. Causes I genuinely cared for. Mantras that fed my soul during adversity. The beauty in failure and imperfections. The humanity in questioning everything without consequence. The challenges (and comforts) in sincere friendships. That feeling of growth and purpose. Inspiration and motivation.
I suppose this is my long-winded and terribly sentimental way of expressing relief that there is some part of my humanity that technology can’t shape or shatter.
There is still joy in self-discovery, even if it must come through disappearance.
What are your thoughts? Do you desire disappearance? What joys has disappearance brought you?
I feel this post deep in my bones. I have a rather complicated relationship with social media — and at this point only use Twitter (and only in small doses). I often find myself feeling nostalgic for the 90s and early 00s before I was constantly connected and became chronically online. To this day I still don’t have any push notifications on my phone (I’ll see your email or Tweet when I next choose to open that app), which honestly is REALLY FREEING. Seriously, I recommend everyone does this.
The past 10 years have… been a lot haha. I find myself wanting to flee into the woods and disconnect all the time. Which is probably my sign to go camping and hiking more often. Great post!
I can completely empathize with that, as my relationship with social media is often a love-hate one. I definitely miss the 90s and 00s. Things weren’t perfect then, of course, but I miss that disconnection at times. I’ve taken most social media apps off my phone (I think IG is the only one still on there) and often keep it on silent. I’ve realized being constantly connected was feeding my anxiety to an unhealthy point, and feel so much better now that I have more control over who/what has access to me. Sometimes it feels weird because we’re used to being available all the time, but other times, it feels like such a relief to just be with myself in the world. Or be present, rather, in real life. I’m glad you understand this, too 🙂 and have taken steps to reclaiming joys in your life.