Virtual v. Real Relationships

I started meeting people in real life (IRL) that I'd met online before most of my friends ever did. Does that make me a pioneer? Maybe. All I know is that when everyone was still using AOL, I was still single, and every so often, I'd meet someone online that I wanted to get to know better IRL. We'd go out on a date or several, and then that would be it.

I was always - ALWAYS! - safe about it in the years I lived on my own, especially. They didn't pick me up at my own home until we'd been out more than once and I knew them a bit better. We'd meet in a public place. I'd make sure my friends knew what I was doing, just in case. My friends (many of them safely married to people they'd met the Old Fashioned Way) thought I was a bit crazy, but it all worked for me. And I actually got to meet a couple of really neat people this way.

Fast-forward to 2003, when I moved to the Northeast to live with my parents before I started seminary. I'd had a profile on an online dating site for a while, but it wasn't until I got to New Hampshire that I came up as a match for Steve. He emailed me, I responded, and within a few exchanges, we both had a really good feeling about each other.

I remember when he included his cell phone number in an email, it freaked me out. I was talking with my friend, Daniel, about it, and he encouraged me to call Steve. "What do you have to lose?" Daniel asked. He got me, with that question. So I called.

We talked for hours that first night. And then the next night. And then I gave him a special ringtone on my cell, which meant that every time he called, my mom would hear it and say (in That Tone of Voice), "Oooooh...there's Steve calling!"

[insert eye roll here]

When Steve and I went out on our first date, we Just Knew. We Just Knew, the way people Just Know in the movies. That was the beginning of our dating, which led to an engagement, and then a marriage - a marriage which just passed its ten year mark. But that first date wasn't the beginning of our relationship, for that had begun earlier.

Lately, I've been seeing lots of discussions around "virtual" v. "real" relationships, as if the relationships we can build with people online aren't real, or the relationships we have in person can't be virtual. But the more time I spend online, the more I realize that some of the relationships I have with people online are rich and full and deep.

There are some online that I communicate with daily. We share joys and sorrows, laughs and tears, prayers and venting. I am at a point with some of these people that I actually cannot refer to them as "virtual friends" because applying that term to them isn't only inauthentic, it's actually painful. They are real friends.

I'm meeting them IRL, one by one, and it's really wonderful. Sort of like with Steve, it often begins with a phone call, and I get really nervous. Then, I remember Daniel's advice of "what do I have to lose?" and so I take that plunge and we have that first conversation. Meeting an online friend IRL is even more nerve-wracking for me, but I've never regretted taking that step.

I remember being at our wedding reception, standing off to one side with Daniel. We were talking about that phone conversation, and he asked me, "Do you remember when I asked you what you had to lose?" He pointed to the room full of people who were there to celebrate with me and Steve, and he said, "This. This is what you would've lost."

This morning, I went to worship at a church pastored by an online, now-IRL friend. Before I got there, I was nervous as hell, thinking, "What am I doing, anyway?!" But then, I got to watch him preach, and not only listen to his podcast. I got to touch the plants in their butterfly garden, and see the gentle creatures flitting their way among the plants. And that is what I would've lost.

How Social Media Helps Me Mourn With Those Who Mourn

#PrayForWest

Last night, Hubby and I went out for a late dinner, following a powerful worship service that included many prayers for the people of Boston. We got to the restaurant, ordered our drinks, and did what has become fairly customary for us: pulled out our smart phones. I perused Twitter while he looked at Facebook.

I'll note here that, generally, I'm not a fan of sitting and staring at a screen when sitting across the table from someone. But this screen time has helped us become kinda like the couple that sits and reads the morning paper together. We share the stories we are reading on our screens; we talk about things we see; we show each other pictures.

So, last night, pretty quickly, I began to see a number of tweets regarding the explosion in West. The number of tweets grew pretty quickly and became more urgent sounding each time I checked. Pictures started appearing, to the point where our dinner conversation surrounded the event that was unfolding just down I-35 to our south.

We got home, and found a news station that had the story on, and I returned to Twitter, adding Facebook to the mix. What I was seeing was staggering - the destruction, the flashing lights, the people - my God, the people! And I started to tweet what I was seeing, what I was feeling, the horror that was trying to overtake me again - and you know what? Others were doing the same thing.

Hubby fell asleep with the news still on. The news continued...and continued...and continued, and so I continued to post prayers, observations, and reactions on Twitter and Facebook, and others engaged those posts in various ways. 

What emerged for me was the sense that it wasn't just me, sitting there in our house, watching horror unfold in front of me while I faced it alone. What emerged for me was the sense that others were out there too - in some cases, on the other side of the world! - watching the same horror that I was, struggling to make some sense out of it, trying desperately to offer prayer and comfort, too. What emerged for me is something akin to the idea of mourning with those who mourn.

I have done this many, many times through social media. I have cried upon reading about someone's diagnosis or death. I have prayed with and for those who have just lost their job, or have had to put a pet to sleep, or who are struggling to care for an aging parent. I have wept - wept so very hard - in the face of some of the burdens we share with one another through social media. And, last night, I wept again, seeing more destruction, more pain, more shock, more horror. Again.

Don't get me wrong - there are plenty of joys that are shared, too - plenty of times when I have rejoiced with those who are rejoicing. I have celebrated with others about new jobs and new babies, new houses and new cars, newly-found freedom and newly-claimed strength. I have said prayers of thanksgiving for all these things, and more. And I have received many, many well-wishes and congratulations via social media in my own times of joy.

But at times like last night, facing horror yet again, I can honestly say that I am grateful for the connections I've made and maintained through social media. I am thankful we can inform one another. I am thankful we can pray for and with one another. I am thankful that I can mourn with those who mourn.