The Disconnect
It’s a few days before I do something that seems like jumping out to swim across Lake Michigan. In a few days, my email will have an autoresponder, my Twitter feed will no longer update, and my Facebook account will be temporarily deactivated. I’ll be off the grid completely.
People can’t believe I’ll really go through with this plan. All day, I’ve been fielding texts, tweets, direct messages, and Facebook messages to reiterate that, yes, I will definitely do it. I’ll go a month without the internet, without the world at my fingertips. It’s very shocking how plugged in I am to the World Wide Web, even for mundane tasks. I’ve incorporated the internet into my core being. As a result, I just can’t fathom leaving it behind for a month. I can’t even imagine what I’ll do when I’m not looking at emails for a story idea or popping onto AOL Instant Messenger for a quick hello from a few people I’ve never met in person. Stepping away from the internet is like leaving the world behind and moving to a different planet where you have only the occasional space junk to chat with.
The goal is to show people why we need the internet. But who knows? Perhaps, after a month has gone by, I’ll say I don’t want to be on the internet for another month. I may end up a hermit in a desolate forest, muttering snippets of HTML tags and hyperlinks to myself. I won’t know until I try.
My last week online has turned into a huge question of “What should I do?” Whenever I’m peeing, getting dressed, or logging in to delete spam from my inbox, there’s this looming wonder dancing around my mind. There’s a nudge all through my consciousness that keeps pressing me. It’s as if my internal clock wants me to know this monumental event will happen at this time.
It’s all a bit surreal, like stepping into The Twilight Zone. For closure or out of boredom, I’m not sure which, I open up a host of sites —- Facebook, Twitter, my email, and YouTube —- my sanctuary. I click on a video that shows a cute cat pushing a parrot around in a stroller. The experience makes me break out into a wide grin —- until the comments load. Something urges me to read them. I believe everyone is sucked into the comments sometimes. They’re hypnotizing even though you know what sadistic text awaits.
I don’t want to read them, but the pull takes hold of my consciousness, tugging my attention toward the loading frame. As I read the comments on the video, my mood deflates with each troll. I sigh and close the browser. Comments are something I won’t miss.
Another day, I’m opening my email to a review code. I pop it into an edit field in Audible so that I can review a book. I note how easy this process is and how much harder these kinds of transactions will become. But I know how peaceful my days will be as well. I won’t have to deal with pokes; I won’t have to deal with spam; and I won’t have to stay connected with, entertain, or educate a vast number of people I’ve never met in person. I know all these things, and I’ve been bouncing around in my head all week.
As someone who’s disabled, however, I’m limited despite having a world at my fingertips because I have to stay connected. Disabled people don’t have much choice when they’re looking for things. Books aren’t available in large print as much as they were a few years ago. I’ve called many companies this week to see if they have a PDF of their book, restaurant menu, or catalog. They’ve told me, as if in a hurry to get me off the phone, “It’s on our website.”
Aside from reminiscing about the internet and what I’ll miss while I’m away, I’ve been trying to prepare. This task is proving harder than I’d originally thought. The United States has three types of accessible libraries apart from some open-source options for the mainstream. The services for the blind in this country are the following: Bookshare, an online library comprising DAISY text files of books, magazines, and other materials; Learning Ally, a site that provides voluntary recordings of educational and traditional books to be distributed in DAISY format; and my favorite, NLS BARD, a site with thousands of recorded audio files by professional narrators and readers of books and magazines, some of which blind people wouldn’t even find on Audible or other platforms.
None of those services offer a standard dictionary or even a standard encyclopedia. A search turns up various specialty encyclopedias. Some are useful, and others are just silly, like a Fart Noise Encyclopedia. None of these sites have any decent almanacs, either. The ones I usually find are aimed at elementary school kids —- nothing that would help me.
This week, I’ve also called many dictionary publishers to see if they had audio CDs or large-print versions. The operators have all told me no, baffled that I didn’t have internet access at my location and at my audacity to ask about such things when I could use a library with internet access in Chicago.
I believe libraries are important and necessary solutions for our whole community, especially for the disabled and economically disadvantaged. Yet, they can’t be the solution for internet access. Although libraries have public resources, they aren’t always reliable. For instance, a library could be closed for holidays or due to the weather. Also, people shouldn’t have to take themselves out of their comfort zones and potentially endure difficult or time-consuming travel just so they can participate in society. Society should desire full participation without barriers, even minuscule ones, because the stress of facing a hostile society causes bitterness and fear of that society. Basic internet should be provided in all homes, and that’s what I hoped this challenge would help demonstrate. More than just responding to the challenge from Marcus —- not that his dares aren’t serious —- I’m seeking to make a point. As a journalist, I’m also aiming to document my experiences along the way.
Yet, many of my friends don’t like this challenge at all. The minute word got around that I would be going off the internet for a month, emails flooded into my inbox from a very good friend of mine, Sam. She’s freaking out, and I don’t blame her. Her emails are saturated with a desperate sense of loss as she types, with many exclamation points, about how silly this challenge is and how badly I’m needed. Nobody else who she knows has as much tech knowledge as I do. I reply with a loving, long explanation that basically boils down to: “Too bad! I’ll be back soon.”
Those messages from people begging me not to do this challenge gets me thinking, though, about my connection to the world. As much as the internet has helped me connect with people, without it, the world won’t be able to connect with me. People won’t be able to pop onto Facebook and see what I’m doing at any given moment. Potential editors won’t have the luxury of sending me a quick email through my website. PR professionals won’t be able to send me press releases that I have begged them for—-even if they’re about subjects that I cover, such as a new kind of adaptive technology inside a Performing Arts theater.
I wonder how this disconnect will affect the people who do keep up with me, who follow me, and who smile when I say “hi” over Skype. I’ve been exploring what this decision will do to me as a person, but I’d never even thought about the people I haven’t met in person but have gotten to know well. Will I lose Facebook friends? Will people lose interest and disappear from my World Wide Web circle? I assume they won’t, but people are diverse creatures. An endless swirl of possibilities could happen while I’m away. People won’t be able to connect with me as easily, and I won’t have the chance to connect with them as easily either.
I can send a job application in less than a minute by email. The editor can look at my resume and everything else that’s linked in my signature. Then, they can decide. Since I’ll be offline, this process will become more straightforward and frightening. It will have to be more direct, which feels a bit daunting. With email, I can compose my thoughts exactly. I don’t say “uh” or “um” whenever an employer asks me a question, and my stutter is non-existent. While the internet has become a life-changing improvement for everyone with access, it’s also a prosthetic device for me and —- I believe —- for others as well.
Speaking of interactions, my last online connection happened, ironically enough, offline, as I walk to my local bank.
I’ve spotted my last influencer for a whole month. Earlier today, I’m walking to my bank’s local branch. The sun is stabbing my body with daggers of late September heat, and my cane is wildly tapping the sidewalk because I want to complete my mission and get out of the heat. I don’t see the other cane user in front of me until our canes clash at the crosswalk as if we’re preparing for a duel. After the clash, I look up to see a smiling young woman. She has flowing locks of brown hair flecked with golden patches. Her smile is radiant, but her sunglasses hide her eyes from my view. I smile at her, feeling slightly bashful about our near duel in the middle of the sidewalk.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
Her smile broadens as she answers self-assuredly. “No problem. I’m guessing you’re headed to the bank as well. I’m new to this area. Usually, I’m on the south side.”
“Yup,” I answer as we cross the street together. My friend sends a text to the phone in my pocket. He tells me he’s having a good birthday party. “So, how are you?” I ask. I wonder how to continue a conversation after nearly jabbing a fellow blind person.
"I’m swell! My name’s Crystal, by the way."
"Nice to meet you. I’m Robbie." We step into the cool building. It cloaks us in receptionists’ sounds, complete with people saying “please hold” every few seconds. In line, I turn to Crystal again. I want to get to know her a bit more, including her online life. She’s also interested in my online presence.
“How often do you update your Facebook page?” she trills. “I love Facebook and, gosh, Twitter, too! How many followers do you have? Do you post a lot of YouTube videos?”
As we move further up the line, I answer all of her questions about my social media activity. She listens with rapture as if I’m the king of the internet. She’s amazed at how many Twitter followers I have, and she soon asks me what I read on social media and the like. I explain I use social media to keep up with underground news that the mainstream media doesn’t cover, such as disability news, and then I ask her what she reads.
Soon, we’re both busy with our transactions. We have no choice but to temporarily part ways. When we meet up again, we’re at the bank’s entrance. Again, we discuss our social media worlds. I tell her she should Facebook friend me, and she tells me to add her everywhere she has an account so that I can listen to her music, watch the videos she uploads, or read the poetry she publishes.
As I step out into the hot afternoon, I turn back to express one final sentiment. “It was very nice to meet you! Add me.”
“You, too! Add me to Facebook, and Tweet me, okay?”
I don’t reveal that I’m about to embark on a challenge (because that’s part of the challenge), nor do I reveal the reason I’m at this bank to withdraw some offline cash in case I want to buy something I see in a store. The door shuts between my newfound acquaintance and me as I leave the interconnected world for thirty-one days.