The Loneliness of Always Being Available

Whenever I find myself defending social media, I always return to the same point: connection. We can stay in touch with friends and family across the globe, learn about cultures entirely different from our own and share our lives in an instant.

Yet, something I hadn’t ever really considered is that perhaps we are too connected.

What I mean by this is that whilst yes, it’s incredible being able to constantly be in contact with friends, family and the occasional niche influencer on Instagram, it can also, I find, get incredibly lonely.  

Something I think we keep forgetting is that texting a friend about their day or telling them about yours is never quite the same as the interaction that would play out in person.

Online you’re invariably focused on getting your message across quickly which means that texting invariably compresses conversation into information. We exchange updates, organise plans and react with emojis, but rarely wander into the tangents that make face-to-face conversations memorable.

The stories that begin with "This reminds me..." or "You'll never guess what happened..." are quietly edited out in favour of efficiency.

Now, this may not sound like the end of the world but what happens when nearly all of our social interactions take place in this weird, para-social ‘cloud’?

You suddenly feel very isolated.

After a day of juggling between group chats spread across five different platforms, FaceTime calls where I sit and scroll with my friends sectioned into a corner of my laptop and reels sent to the first person suggested when I click ‘share’, I end the day just as socially unfulfilled and let’s face it, alone, as I started it despite feeling as though i’d made so many attempts at connection.

It’s an odd feeling - this loneliness that almost doesn’t feel like loneliness; it’s not that you don’t have anyone to speak to, but that you have too many. Too many brief, fleeting conversations and not enough genuine connections. 

Add to that the quiet expectation that because we can reply, we should. A message left unread for a few hours no longer simply means you're busy; it invites interpretation. Are you annoyed? Have you seen it? Why were you active five minutes ago but haven't replied?

Read receipts, typing indicators and "last seen" statuses have transformed silence into something that requires explanation. Being reachable has quietly become being responsible for everyone else's sense of reassurance. We carry dozens of tiny emotional obligations in our pockets, each one insignificant on its own, but together strangely exhausting.

Maybe that's why the end of a day spent constantly "talking" can still feel so empty.

We've exchanged hundreds of words without ever really being heard. We've been available to everyone, but fully present with almost no one - including ourselves.

Perhaps the cruellest irony of all is that the technology designed to make us feel less alone has simply taught us how to be lonely together.

Author: Arianna Enserro