I was working on-line with a client recently when an “instant message” suddenly arrived. The writer had apparently added my professional screen name to her buddy list (through which she could tell when I was on-line). I did not know who she was, so I asked. She ducked the question.
This immediately split us into different levels of vulnerability. My identity was known to her, but she was withholding her identity from me. I was not willing to engage in a conversation on that basis.
The Internet is a vast playground for many people. You can assume any persona you want, as if putting on a costume, and enter chat rooms and on-line games with no one the wiser. It can be fun to enter dimensions that would be closed to you in real life due to age, gender, mobility, or appearance.
When all the people in a chat room are anonymous, they are on equal footing. But when a stranger crashes a private chat room where friends are meeting, it feels as threatening as a burglar entering the house.
There has probably never been so boundaryless an environment as the Internet, and many of us have tasted its freedom. I can now research medical studies without leaving my home. I can work with clients anywhere in the world. A client can write me at midnight—when a crisis is happening—instead of waiting a week for an appointment.
We have created a world that is all mind, all thought. We travel instantly, without need of a body, to any pursuit that draws us.
But not everyone using the Internet is playing. Many of us use the bulk of our Internet time working. So if you send an instant message to someone, use the same courtesies as if you were calling on the phone. For example, “Hi, I’m Suni. Are you working? Are you free to talk?”
Forwarded messages can be a blessing or a curse. When we first galloped on-line, forwarding was great fun. We passed jokes at the speed of light all over the globe. Now, so many forwards can arrive in a day that it’s impossible to read them all.
You are not, of course, obligated to read them. You can treat them as junk mail and ditch them. Or you can set a boundary based on who sends them. (I have a tight group of friends whose forwards I read, not only because their jokes are usually both funny and tasteful, but also because I want to keep current on the culture of our community. Another friend is always on top of social issues. I read her forwards because it’s like having a personal newsletter of important political events. Most other forwards I scan lightly.)
Tell correspondents if you would prefer not to receive forwards. Or tell them the type of forwarded messages you want them to send. “Send jokes, no sexual ones please.” Or “Political info only. No jokes.”
If someone does not respect your limit, you now know something important about the person, and can protect yourself accordingly.
A person I hadn’t heard from in years recently reached me over the Internet. She said she’d like to renew our friendship via the Net. I was open to that and said so.
Then I received a string of forwards from her, no more personal information or any material on which to regrow a relationship. I suppose for some people a forwarded message seems like contact—and it is, in the mildest sense. However, a forwarded message is not personal. It isn’t real communication from one human being to another.
In Internet relationships, it’s easy to measure and maintain parity. If a person says they really want to stay in touch with you, and you hear from them twice a year, they are showing you that they want to do regular updates but don’t want to get very involved.
If you are writing a friend weekly and they are responding every four months, you are involved to a different degree. You can mention it and discuss it, or you can settle back to the level of the other person’s willingness.
One hard thing about all relationships is that the person with the least involvement is the one who sets the level of intimacy. If you want an intimate relationship with someone and that person wants a casual one with you, the relationship will be casual. You can invite, model, and request, but the bottom line is, if the other person wants less involvement, that’s all they will offer you, no matter what you do. In fact, disregarding their boundary will cause them to back away even further.
A person’s true level of interest becomes obvious on the Internet, because their behavior is all you see. I’ve compared people’s behavior on-line with their behavior in the flesh, and have found that they are consistent in both milieus, but more obvious on-line.
In person we can cloak a lack of availability in flowery words and impressive gestures, but on-line, either a person responds or doesn’t, acknowledges or doesn’t, is capable of engaging in true conversation or isn’t.
INTERNET BOUNDARIES
• Decide your limits about engaging with people who remain anonymous. In general, proceed slowly and with caution.
• Communicate your preferences regarding forwarded messages.
• Pay attention to a lack of parity in the people you communicate with. If you are getting more contact than you prefer, you can say so. If another person’s involvement is much less than yours, you can e-mail that person about it, or pull back so that you aren’t investing a lot of energy in them.
• Take charge of your own level of risk, both with known friends and (especially) unknown people.
• Notice when you are risking more or less than the other person, and decide what fits the level of relationship you want to have with them.
• Treat instant messages with the same courtesy as phone calls, asking if the other person is available for conversation.