Thomas Nast: Out of the ruins... (10-18-1873)

"I seem satisfied to accomplish no more than to gape at shadows playing on some utterly imaginary wall."

Social media scrolling fiddles with the In Here/Out There boundary. Firmly focusing on the media via any device induces a convincing illusion of In-Hereness. It sure seems then as though the real world—by which I refer to the flesh and blood world—was Out There and the distantly disembodied virtual world was the more intimately personal one. This effect might amount to little more than a figure/ground misattribution if it weren’t for the broader and deeper ramifications stemming from this situation. I guess that video games can induce the same effect, where their user inhabits the projected world more confidently than they inhabit their own body. Normal activities of daily living might go begging in favor of feeding the non-sentient presence. Schools have begun confiscating students’ cell phones in acknowledgment of just this influence. For whatever reason, virtual existences seem to be terribly attractive in ways that can ultimately prove to be self-destructive.

The self in this face-off voluntarily surrenders to its virtual counterpart. Whatever the physical or psychological justification the user might pose, this ceding of personal presence should alarm anyone accessing social media. The presentation seems to be such that we have no clear defenses against its brand of hypnotism. The experience seems to be self-reinforcing. Chores might back up without really registering. Unfinished business might become overwhelming, which, alone, might further justify retreating into that more comforting illusory world. We lose the notion that we’re not interacting with the world at all, but with clever projections of that world. Our eyes might even favor the fictional version since it omits many of the more unsettling externatities. There’s no heavy lifting involved in social media scrolling. If it becomes momentarily boring, one can just scroll on to the next in an infinite series of alternative points of focus: each new and strangely familiar, too.

Who am I? becomes a meaningless inquiry in the social media world. One need never confront anything approaching serious introspection. A group identity comfortably replaces individual angst. Every “user” belongs to an invisible community, bound together by shared perspective. It’s as if they all share the same narrow peephole through which they feel free to interpret whatever’s presented. The theatrical nature of these performances easily disappears in the face of all of the familiar plot twists. Heroes and villains, angels and devils, each perform true to their roles. Our sensory world flattens. Our sense of connection expands. We feel as though we are ever more intimately connected to a world that steadfastly, if subtly, excludes our physical presence. We revel in this sensation.

Meanwhile, the driveway’s looking shoddy. Last Fall, I stayed ahead of the leaf fall by continually mulching and raking, and cleaning up. But then, a furious windstorm passed through, as it tends to every year, leaving a mess just as if I’d never once even attempted to stay abreast of the work. I admit that I could more easily face my social media queue than I could slip into my overalls and clean up that resident eyesore. Yesterday, I finally escaped the social media world to inhabit my own side yard for a spare half an afternoon. The world seemed bright, even given the late January light. I felt cold but also invigorated. I disappeared those errant leaves and left the driveway demonstrably better. I left myself better, too. My social media somehow survived my absence and even seemed indifferent when I showed little interest in catching up to whatever I’d missed when I later returned into the house.

I had reset my In Here/Out There sense, with preference toward what was real for once. Since I set my iPhone to greyscale, its tractor beam attraction has lessened. The foggy overcast, typical January weather here, encourages deep, almost smothering introspection, but I should not mistake social media scrolling for introspection. It’s clearly an Out There activity rather than an In Here one. When I can be clear about the distinction between these two, I seem to function better in my real world. Hell, I don’t even have a real world during those times when I innocently commit another terrible misattribution. I only exist In Here. When securely anchored within, I can take myself anywhere without losing addressability to the me I know inside. When I mistake Out There for my In Here, I don’t seem to go anywhere. I seem satisfied to accomplish no more than to gape at shadows playing on some utterly imaginary wall.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Unscrolling, #PureSchmaltz