There are a few people on Twitter that I respect genuinely for their courage to share themselves completely and transparently. They share their process of working and living so that other people might learn from them, might take away a positive moment, might be an influence of how to make the world better for all. Twitter makes it easy to interact with complete strangers, giving the illusion of connectedness. I hadn't given a second thought to commenting, posting, tagging these people in tweets. Until now.
Recently I read a thread by a children's book author that talked about how hard it is to keep up with the volume of interactions on Twitter, Facebook, and for some, Instagram as well. Most authors aren't superstars in the respect that they have assistants and media teams doing this work for them. They are hard-working, talented and dedicated writers who have families and deadlines, travel schedules, speaking engagements and book signings to prepare for, and now, social media to contend with. While I knew this subconsciously, I didn't grasp the additional weight of responsibility that expecting a response puts on a popular figure.
Social media made me want to add my likes to the others, to comment for the scraps of positive reinforcement that are notifications. The sheer volume of replies and likes in a thread must be overwhelming to someone with thousands of followers. As this author said (paraphrased here), "How do I choose who to respond to? There are just too many to reply individually to everyone, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by not responding."
Lightbulb moment. Well, duh.
Why was I seeking those interactions in the first place? I wanted affirmation.
Why am I seeking this on social media, from strangers who don't know me?
This was the kicker.
I realized in the moment that to some, I might appear as a stalker. Some weirdo who this man or
woman has never met, could even be a computer-generated Twitter account. I'm not, but it is possible.
It made me back off of replying, RTing, and so forth unless part of a chat (I participate as an educator in several) or the interaction is with someone who already knows me. In my dreams to become an author, having to manage social media never appears in the ether. So, to a few of the amazing folks who have influenced me in such a positive way, I promise to make your notifications list a little bit (tiny bit) shorter. Out of respect for who you are and what you do, you won't be hearing from me, unless you ask a question of your followers and want a response.
I will still be following you. Namaste, and thank you for all that you do for your loyal followers. By the way, if you got to this blog post via my tweet, I am not expecting a response, but if you have something to say, I will read your comments.
Recently I read a thread by a children's book author that talked about how hard it is to keep up with the volume of interactions on Twitter, Facebook, and for some, Instagram as well. Most authors aren't superstars in the respect that they have assistants and media teams doing this work for them. They are hard-working, talented and dedicated writers who have families and deadlines, travel schedules, speaking engagements and book signings to prepare for, and now, social media to contend with. While I knew this subconsciously, I didn't grasp the additional weight of responsibility that expecting a response puts on a popular figure.
Social media made me want to add my likes to the others, to comment for the scraps of positive reinforcement that are notifications. The sheer volume of replies and likes in a thread must be overwhelming to someone with thousands of followers. As this author said (paraphrased here), "How do I choose who to respond to? There are just too many to reply individually to everyone, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings by not responding."
Lightbulb moment. Well, duh.
Why was I seeking those interactions in the first place? I wanted affirmation.
Why am I seeking this on social media, from strangers who don't know me?
This was the kicker.
I realized in the moment that to some, I might appear as a stalker. Some weirdo who this man or
woman has never met, could even be a computer-generated Twitter account. I'm not, but it is possible.
It made me back off of replying, RTing, and so forth unless part of a chat (I participate as an educator in several) or the interaction is with someone who already knows me. In my dreams to become an author, having to manage social media never appears in the ether. So, to a few of the amazing folks who have influenced me in such a positive way, I promise to make your notifications list a little bit (tiny bit) shorter. Out of respect for who you are and what you do, you won't be hearing from me, unless you ask a question of your followers and want a response.
I will still be following you. Namaste, and thank you for all that you do for your loyal followers. By the way, if you got to this blog post via my tweet, I am not expecting a response, but if you have something to say, I will read your comments.