I want to be where the people are (sometimes)

Pre-pandemic, my introvert self was stretched pretty thin.

I didn't realize it at the time. Sure, I'd come home from work and lie on my bed for an hour like it was a charging station. But I also thought nothing of marathon social days, going straight from the office to an event, grabbing drinks after with friends. That was the norm; we all did it. It was just life.

Then lockdowns happened. I don't want to glamorize them, and I'm not going to be one of those people who talks about how great they were. They weren't. I spent them tangled in a giant knot of stress and anxiety, glued to the news and worried about the world. (And I was one of the lucky ones.) But they did shift everyone's social meters — that whole active life we were used to fell away, and we adjusted to a new mode of existence.

Some elements I came to relish, like the peace of puttering around my house on a weekend. (While other people were doing jigsaw puzzles and baking sourdough, I got really into... cleaning?! Exciting, I know.) Other aspects I didn't completely grasp until later — like the impact this period continues to have on our social bonds.

I now find myself facing a dilemma: I have a strong desire to connect with other humans, whether that's dear friends who fell out of my orbit, casual acquaintances or entirely new connections. But actually acting on that desire is tough. It's a muscle that's atrophied from disuse, a pandemic-driven awkwardness I may never fully shed. (Or, more likely, it was there all along.) It's the one-two punch of wading through social experiences and expending more energy to have them.

And the reason I'm putting my insecurities on (metaphorical) paper? I don't think I'm alone. Not only are we all changed from the past few years, society has also lost much of what allowed us to easily connect with one another. The office is the prime example: To build community, you need consistency. Seeing the same people day after day, or at least week after week. For many of us, we're still working remotely or only sporadically gathering in the workplace. That flexibility has endless benefits, but there are drawbacks, too. The erosion of office bonding is one of them.

Even before the pandemic, experts from neuroscientists to sociologists were warning about the "loneliness epidemic." Back in 2017, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy even compared the effects of loneliness on lifespan to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Participation in groups such as churches or sports leagues, a hallmark of community engagement, has been on the decline for years, as has volunteering. Covid has unquestionably exacerbated these trends; for example, both the U.S. and U.K. saw sizeable percentage-point drops in formal volunteering rates between 2019 and 2021/22.

And, according to an advisory from Murthy in May, young people have been the hardest hit: Those aged 15-24 have had 70% less social interaction with friends compared to the same age group two decades ago. Instead, they go online.

Which brings me to Part 2 of my personal, and our collective, dilemma: the fragmentation of social media.

During pandemic restrictions, we had to turn to the Internet to find connection. Certainly Gen Z flocked to platforms like TikTok, a substitute for the community experience they'd otherwise get in school. But we all found our social worlds reduced to screens, and suddenly your phone or computer became the venue for everything — company meetings, virtual pub quizzes, livestreamed living room gigs, dance challenges, therapy sessions, employee performance discussions, weddings, funerals, job interviews, family reunions. We turned to Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, Snapchat, Discord, Clubhouse, Reddit, Twitch and other platforms to be our water coolers and public squares. It was exhausting, and more than once I found myself ready to chuck my devices into the bin.

Since then, social media has further splintered. It's one part widespread fatigue —?social media detoxes are on the rise, for example — and one part a rapidly evolving landscape, with both standalone apps and new features popping up left and right. Long-dominant Facebook is losing ground with Gen Z while TikTok soars and Instagram still thrives. Once-buzzy BeReal turned out to be a flash in the pan. Reddit faced outcry from users and moderators after API pricing changes, prompting many to abandon the Internet staple. And then there's Twitter, whose ownership, policy and product changes have propelled a flurry of alternatives — most notably and recently, Meta's Threads — into the spotlight, for at least brief moments in time.

It's a lot. On average, social media users (all 4.48 billion of us) engage with roughly six different platforms, and we're tired of trying new ones.

It's hard to feel like you have a community when that community can't aggregate in one place. I'm not the only one looking for the experience social media used to give us: I've seen countless posts on Bluesky, Threads and Mastodon from people yearning for Twitter circa 2010 or even MySpace. I believe at least part of what we're searching for is a feeling — the feeling of being surrounded by friends, as well as endless potential to connect with people who share your interests. (Of course, the loss of that feeling is also about digital safety. That's a whole other essay.)

All this social media tumult begs the question: Why don't you just log off? Get off the Internet hamster wheel. Talk to humans in the real world. Or, as the Very Online among us say, "go touch grass."

And this is where the two parts of this modern dilemma converge. Online or offline, it's harder to make deep connections than it was in the past. Our IRL relationships moved online when the pandemic hit, but today's social media landscape makes it tougher to do the reverse. We also have fewer close friends than we used to, which reduces opportunities to widen our circles. And, let's be real: It's not like people were striking up conversations at the grocery store before Covid. We're in an online world, but our phones aren't facilitating connection like they used to.

I think this gives us an opportunity to rethink IRL social institutions for today's digital society. Make it less intimidating to attend events solo, or to join clubs. Help facilitate consistent interactions between community members. Meet people where they are — which is still, often, online. This is happening in plenty of grassroots ways (the London Social Club subreddit is a great example) and features like Dice's Groups (which helps friends connect and buy tickets for gigs) are being built into existing products. There are also legacy options like Meetup.com that get us part of the way there.

But can we think bigger? We don't need another Twitter alternative to capture what social media felt like a decade ago. We need online and offline tools that fit who we are now. Many of us, myself very much included, are socially out-of-shape after the past few years. We just need to find the right gym.

--

Note: This article is my personal perspective and not at all connected to my job or LinkedIn. But, I have to say: If there's one place on the Internet that still gives me that feeling of community, connection and possibility, it's here. I see meaningful connections and opportunities come together every day.