Sometimes we forget the point.
We buy our ticket and take our seats. We watch the show and forget ourselves. The distraction is welcome. It’s what we signed up for, at least for a time.
We understood going in that our intention was to leave something of our other responsibilities behind. We needed the break, but maybe more, we needed to dip our toes into another world that would freshen our perspective, recalibrate our intention, and open up possibilities that would not occur to us otherwise.
We didn’t realize that once we stepped inside, the doors were quietly locked behind us.
Time went by and distraction became immersion. The tangible realities we left behind, slow intentional communication, complicated, nuanced relationships, and the constant, considered grappling with variables obviously beyond our control were replaced by soundbites and memes, the normalization of adding and deleting people, and filters that tuned us to the celebrated aesthetic of the moment.
We could be whatever we wanted. Our companions would be only those who mirrored us most closely. And in our reflective cocoon in which we only saw visions of the self we were creating, we discovered the need to share our every thought and opinion, to disclose our every vice and triumph, egged on by a trickle of validating likes, comments, and follows.
Suddenly we remember that we came to this place for respite and opportunity, fruit that we would bring home to nourish and grow ourselves and our projects. And in that moment of recollection, we get up to leave and we can’t.
Because now everything is tied to this place. Our income. Our social life. Our reputation. Our happiness. Our information. Our politics. Our beliefs.
Standing at the locked doors, we realize that we were duped. We didn’t forget our reason for stepping into this circus: it was massaged out of us bit by polarizing bit.
The lighting, the seating, the theatrics, every bit of the experience designed to keep us from thinking beyond the big top. Every clap, every view, every interaction with the ringmasters gave them all the information they needed to tailor the show to our very specific preferences so that we would never want to leave.
Ever.
We can break out. There are ways, but we will be forced to leave so much behind. Our privacy. Our security. Our vulnerabilities. And even perhaps something of our livelihood.
Dust and Tribe is done with social media. We are embarrassed for ever having been involved. A few pictures on Instagram turned into Facebook profiles, both business and personal as a requirement to access specific tools to improve our outreach. Through these platforms we made a few valuable connections and met a handful of wonderful people.
That’s the good. But there is so much bad.
A few days in the desert with my 16 year-old daughter was my moment of recollection.
Everywhere I turned I saw people with phones outstretched. I saw an aspiring influencer assume various expressions while adjusting for lighting and wind: wistful, contemplative, pensive, passionate. Even I was taking pictures, ostensibly as a record of our time together but always with an audience in mind.
The vast and expansive desert, so valuable for the insignificance and humility it naturally inspires, is, through social media, transformed into a canvas for our self-aggrandizement.
Is there a more disrespectful refutation of majesty?
My relationship with my daughters is precious. Our experience in wild places is to be cherished and savored. It is the rareness of a thing that suggests its value and the more we share, the more our treasures are depleted. We might offer some things in charity, but in order to remain a source of provision, we must be discrete with our stores.
Engaging with social media is unlocking the vault. It’s giving away the combination. It’s irresponsible and we’re jumping ship as all of Zuckerberg’s properties, Facebook, Instagram, and WhatsApp are gradually retooled for the upcoming Metaverse. It’s not the place we want to be.
We are not technophobes. We are not misanthropes. We will continue to share right here, in this space. It’s comparatively private. It takes some effort to get here and some energy to stay which means that any engagement will be intentional.
But what is better is that we should meet outside. Check out our upcoming events. Get on our email list. These are the ways we can stay in touch, God willing.
And be careful under the big top.
Let us know how you feel about social media in the comments below.
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I found D&T under the Big Top. Then in the tide-pools, and even star gazing. It’s been a joy and pleasure to learn about your community, all you have to offer, the knowledge you have imparted, and the excellent writing and reflections you have shared with us there. All the amazing people I have met, albeit “suggested” because I had the pleasure of knowing you and following D&T. While I’m sad to see you go, I understand, and even a bit jealous. As someone who has spent many years outside of the “Big Top,” it was one of the most enlightening, fulfilling, and productive years of my life. I look forward to Inshallah connecting more with D&T in the real world and with more intention.
Salams
It’s a mixed bag, isn’t it, Nina? The example of alcohol comes to mind. There’s no questioning the potential for benefit. You represent a significant portion of that benefit, masha Allah. Some great conversations and connections were made with you and others on social media. These were not superficial connections either, but real engagement to the point of meeting one another’s families and even building programming together.
But for all of the benefit, we cannot ignore the intoxication. Your presence here makes the separation much easier, wal-hamdu lillah.
Masha Allah, Ahmed. So articulate, as always.
Indeed, the ultimate 3-ring circus whose ringmaster, never dared to be seen, laughs at this maze of mirrors he has created.
So happy to hear you are enjoying precious moments with those who matter most.
May Allah protect us all from distractions that keep us away from His remembrance.
Dearest Faiz!
The work of Dust and Tribe has been rewarding on a number of fronts, al-hamdu lillah. Among the most fulfilling is the opportunity to recover lost history and missed opportunities, among them a fuller relationship with you when we were kids.
It’s a rare opportunity indeed to come across a man as accomplished as yourself with such a profound legacy of service, an awareness of the critical importance of physical play, and a willingness to really dig into some good conversation. Thank you for always turning up in the places we need you, wal-hamdu lillah.