Web 2.0 Culture and the Curse of the Turing Machine

Back at the beginning of 1995 I created a website named "Romantic Gestures". The purpose was to draw people into a virtual community who wanted to share experiences and ideas with others about all things romantic. In that time I noticed that people are more open about giving personal details on the internet than they were in real life.

People who were only five years old around that time are now 18, and the internet isn't the primarily-academic-coddle-baby it was back then. It stemmed beyond being a tool into being a full-blown culture. The Web 2.0 craze that took off about four years ago and introduced a level of creativity, open structure and more importantly, virtualized community-style culture. It's this culture that changed the upcoming generation into something almost unnatural. People began to do everything online. It lacked physical, personal interaction.

Babies require a good deal of coddling. That touch builds a naturally emotional bond to others and forms as a sort of grafting into the world. Without touch, a baby's will to live wanes and (s)he becomes failure to thrive.

Although online communities and groups are amazing and wonderful, I think they've become the backwash of their physical counterparts. People need physical interaction as much as the emotional and intellectual stimulus provided by the internet's vast array of discussion groups and communities.

The future is in merging the two. Use Flickr to identify people in your area to meet with. Use Blogger to locate others nearby that you can karaoke with. There's already a somewhat successful meetup.com model that allows people to interact with one another - but their interface and navigation feels stale and cumbersome.

At least the frequent emails from meetup keep me abreast that there is a world out there where people meet - they have faces and feelings and can do amazing things without the internet. There is a sort of sick comfort in doing things alone, though. It's selfish in a way. But having a spouse and children provides a life-giving feedback that my life is bigger than me and even bigger than the internet.

Twenty touches

Each night my children and I spend anywhere between fifteen minutes and two hours together. Most of that time is spent reading before bedtime, but that time is also used to reconnect.

Many years ago, my wife and I attended a Gary Smalley seminar where he briefly mentioned the importance of touch. It's something we all need to live. So I thought to myself that if I don't supply my children with enough positive words and touches each day then there may come a time in their teen years that they look for that need elsewhere and end up experimenting with touch in ways that isn't allowed outside of marriage.

So I asked my kids, "Do you get enough loving touches throughout the day: pats on the head, pats on the back, hugs, kisses... stuff like that?" They all answered "no". So I wondered - how much do they need? Then came the question. "How many times do you feel you would need to know you are loved?" The eldest child only thought briefly before saying her answer: "Twenty times!".

That's quite a bit of touching to take place over the two to three hours I have available for them during the week days. With the size of my family, if everyone got 20 touches a day that would add up to 100 touches a day - not including our dog.

If that were spread throughout a three-hour-twenty-minute period it comes out to touching someone every 2 minutes.

I only remember getting a meaningful touch about once every other week growing up, which was still more than most of the kids I knew. I'll bet our society has even pulled back to the point that children are only given a meaningful touch once a month, and that's reserved for when the child initiates the hug.

One last thought - giving my children that access to my personal space makes me a tangible figure for them. I become more real and more accessible in ways beyond the physical. Hopefully they'll learn that and come to their real accessible Dad during the more trying years ahead.