Bring Back Commenting from The Heart
A personal essay about my longing for connection
Religious zeal was a driving force of my like as a teenager. I’d write full essays worth of comments, arguing with my atheist frenemies. Sharpening my skill for apologetics, climbing the ranks as a soldier of the crosss, I would spend my weeks thinking about better arguments. That religious zeal has transformed into a gentler and more steadfast commitment to the wellbeing of humanity, Christian or not, in fact, especially nonChristian. But, what I yearn for is the kind of human connection I felt when I’d be swapping comments with the people I felt such deep antagonism towards, the people I’d grow to love dearly. The people who would eventually shape the way I love and live.
I spend hours on social media, scrolling, laughing, crying, sharing, uplifting. Only a percentage of this time accounts for connection with people. I try to comment sincerely. But, a video essay/rant I saw recently touched on the Twitterification of social media: that is, the phenomenon where people opt to comment smart quips as opposed to sincerely engaging with the people they encounter on these platforms. On Instagram, I love being on people’s close friends list; it has the feel of an invitation to engage earnestly, to ask questions, and respond without having to be funny. Or to be funny without it turning into a bid for popularity, for one’s 15 seconds of internet fame.
Throughout the past weeks, I’ve been having more phone calls with the people I care about. And it has been a balm and a blessing. I recognize that my longing for connection through comments is a smaller manifestation of a greater need to feel in touch with my community. I often find myself in the role of listener when I have these conversations, but lately I’ve been getting to talk a lot more too. I’m relearning the balance of giving and receiving, of apologizing less when I feel like I’ve talked “too much” and asking the questions which would lurk at the back of my throat for fear of chasing someone away or making someone uncomfortable with my curiosity.
Alongside the longing for authentic connection, I’ve been feeling like I need to start praying again. I am connected to the Divine, but the process of understanding what prayer looks like outside of organized religion has been complex. On one hand, there is the religious practice that says prayer is specifically addressed to a Divine source, attaching expectations of what prayer looks like and how it ought to make a person feel. On the other hand, other forms of spiritual connection, like mindfulness, dancing, breathwork, and affirmations have been co-opted by spiritual trends frame these practices as part of a metric of productivity; they say this is how you get ahead of the rest of the bunch. Here, I shy away from religious puritanism and political conservatism, running straight into the monster that are capitalistic values and individualism to the detriment of the collective and, ultimately, myself.
Something that comments give me is a sense that I am not isolated in my journey of seeking and maturity. It’s warming when someone says that something you’ve shared is relevant to them, and even more so when they open up about the context of their life and how your own vulnerability is beneficial to their sense of direction. Sometimes, I’ll see these posts and video clips of people in crisis seeking out support from online communities and personalities. It could be in the form of an AITA post on Reddit or a question posted on an Instagram story or a 20-something deep in debt being yelled at by Caleb Hammer. When I calm down from the scandal or the automatic scrolling impulse, I recognize within them the same need I have: a need for friendship, community, mentorship and a space where my mistakes and questions can be received without punishment.
Maybe this is a motivation for my writing. Here, if anything, I get to be a friend to myself, and to invite other people in my process of thinking and becoming. A friend and I have been facilitating the first cohort of a creative recovery program for artists. And these past 6 weeks have been such a necessary space of vulnerability, confidence even through uncertainty and affirmation of my gifts whether or not I think they are what they are “supposed” to be or “supposed” to be doing. I’ve also gotten to participate in this process for other people. Comments might never go back to what they were when I was being a religious terror on Facebook. But, somewhere in this in-between, new ways of fostering connection are blooming. Perhaps, what I can offer is that same eager heart I had as a teen, open to connection and conflict in equal measure, being changed and molded, held in the most unlikely of spaces.
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