Confessions of a Lurker

I have been - and for the most part continue to be – an internet “lurker.”  I have a Facebook account, a LinkedIn account, a Twitter account.  I read a lot (a lot) of other bloggers.  But I’m just not much of a participant.  I do sometimes comment on other people’s blogs.  Obviously, I blog myself.  But I’m fairly silent in these other forums.

Folks who write a lot about building business through participation in online communities say this is precisely what one must not do.  They say the only way to become visible to people who might benefit from your business is to participate, make connections, communicate, be helpful.  Put yourself out there.  Talk.  And I’ve no doubt that’s true.
 

And yet it all goes against my nature. 
 

Throughout my life, I’ve been so very private.  I’ve valued intense one-on-one conversation over group communication; I’ve preferred small groups of close friends over large gatherings of acquaintances.  I don’t think in sound bites.  I listen intently and then respond, and my responses are rarely brief.
 

It’s not that I think these social media mechanisms of communication are a waste of time – far from it.  I’m very interested in what all my friends and family are saying on Facebook.  I read Twitter and my RSS feed avidly, devouring content as though famished.  In fact, I must limit the time I spend on these, lest the day slip away from me.  But I’m intimidated by the notion of sharing my own thoughts through these channels.   What if anyone linked to or following me finds my comments boring?  What if they roll their eyes and sigh over someone having the temerity to clog up their feeds with such drivel?  Add to this the oft heard advice from the social media gurus that you must have valuable things to say.  You must add to the conversation.  Your comments must be insightful.  Frankly, I find these admonitions chilling.  Much better to be silent than to risk being perceived as uninteresting.
 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the possible sources of this anxiety.  After all, I have a lot of friends in the “actual” - as opposed to “virtual” - world.  These friends, with whom I converse with my voice rather than my keyboard, don’t appear to find me boring.  They seek my company and my input.  They listen when I speak.  They frequently even laugh.  So why the fear that those “reading” instead of “hearing” my voice might react differently?
 

I crave a response that I can measure, an expression on the face, an inflection in the voice.  These responses aren’t available in the virtual, on-line world.  Moreover, it all just feels new to me.  After all, I am old enough to remember Life Before Home Computers, never mind Life Before The Internet.  I formed my sense of self through in-person interaction.  “Virtual” interaction still feels a little untrustworthy, a little shallow to me, even while I have “met” a number of very sincere and interesting people through on-line channels. 
 

Yet there is probably a sense in which the sources of my intimidation or the excuses I might pose don’t matter; what matters is slowly moving past them.  So I’m working on that.  I’m working on being a bit more vocal on Facebook – and lo and behold, my friends actually comment back, as though they’re glad to hear from me.  I’m working on commenting more on blogs I find interesting or moving – and lo and behold, sometimes people write back nice things (and even if not, they certainly don’t comment back telling me I’m an idiot).  And if I don’t Tweet a lot yet, I’m thinking about it more.  When an idea or story or blog post or article arrests my thinking, I roll over in my mind ways of expressing those thoughts concisely.  I ponder sharing my musings with others.  I compose new blog posts in my head.  And it is my hope that one day, some of those ruminations will actually find their way out of my head and into those on-line channels.  I’m starting to trust that people will be welcoming.
 

Bear with me.  I’m working up to it.