The scene was set to introduce me to a new communications medium. It was on a computer, it’s in a new language and to a few hundred thousand strangers. All of which combined to result in a minor, well-controlled panic attack!
The term technnophobe doesn’t quite cover my condition (dislike, aversion and fear are words that don’t quite seem big enough to encompass my relationship with technology). So while the rest of the class members at the Twitter workshop appeared to be seeing it as a fun few hours of distraction, for me, it was a bit more like coming face to face with my nemesis.
Yes. I am one of those old folks who still hasn’t grasped most of the functions on the remote control (how on earth are you supposed to drive that status bar?), 98% of my phone’s capabilities lie rusting and unused and, while I work on a computer all day, I still feel like a rather unwelcome visitor to a foreign land. So it was with great trepidation (but a degree of obligation) that I decided the time was ripe to enter the world of Twitter and tweets. This was not just because I felt like I was missing out on something of global impact, but also because I am fascinated by communication in any form and this was a new wave that was sweeping past me.
With a deep breath and lots of support and encouragement from my classmates, I dove in to the session “internal Flow School” (as opposed to external, more formal Flow School for clients). Typically, my computer, which tends to behave just like a horse that can sense your fear, started to play up. While everyone else coped with the basic log in procedure, I started getting all my messages in Chinese. It was not terribly reassuring to hear that this was a phenomenon nobody had encountered before… I had to ask the question, “How on earth have I managed to break something that the rest of the world manages with their eyes closed?”
Thanks to my patient teacher and assistants holding my hand through the process, I was soon officially a Twitterer, even though I still had little idea of what this meant. I do have to admit that it was a real thrill to hear that John Smit was on the bus on the way to Wales but, other than that, I’m still missing the point.
So, I now compose a brief message about something (interesting, preferably?) and send it out into the ether. This lands up on some follower’s (poor dope’s) desktop. What a coup. What an accomplishment. How profound. Well, at least I’m part of the gang now. Belonging remains bizarrely important to us older folks, more for name-dropping points than anything else.
All of this having been said – I never “got” Facebook either and yet I can’t start the day without checking it. I know that it is via seemingly harmless introductions that addictions start, but let the record show that, on my first day on Twitter, I only checked in five times (hmm, make that six).