Apparently, We’re Still Burning Witches

Holy Batman.

People on the internet are QUICK with their pitchforks.

I’ve gotten a little firsthand experience with that lately.

Three different posts. Two anonymous. One with my name attached to it.

Three completely different conversations, and somehow all three managed to summon at least a few people who apparently woke up, stretched their fingers, cracked their knuckles and thought:

You know what I’d really like to do today? Yell at a stranger on the internet.

And whew.

These WOMEN.

Some of them treat a comment section like they’ve just been handed the microphone at a rally.

No questions.

No curiosity.

No, “Hey, maybe I’m misunderstanding what you’re saying.”

Just straight to the podium.

And apparently we are still burning witches in Salem in 1692, except now nobody has to leave the couch.

We just have keyboards.

The funny part is, all three things I posted were intentionally somewhat open-ended.

I wasn't standing there proclaiming that I had all the answers.

Quite the opposite.

I was essentially saying:

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about.

Here’s something I’ve noticed.

Here’s an idea.

What do YOU think?

I left some of the legwork in the reader’s hands.

Think about it.

Research it.

Ask questions.

Look at it from another direction.

Maybe disagree with me.

Maybe expand on it.

Maybe teach me something I don't know.

That is one of the things I actually LOVE about the internet.

For all the garbage we complain about with social media, think about what we have access to.

People we never would have met.

Experiences completely different from our own.

Experts.

Beginners.

Different industries.

Different generations.

Different parts of the country and the world.

Different ways of thinking.

We have this enormous opportunity for collaboration and conversation sitting right underneath our thumbs.

And sometimes we use it beautifully.

Other times?

Apparently we grab the virtual pitchfork.

And I’ve been thinking about that.

Not necessarily about them.

About me.

Because every nasty comment gives you a choice.

You can defend yourself.

You can explain yourself twelve different ways.

You can match their energy.

You can write a four-paragraph response proving why they are wrong.

You can screenshot it and send it to your friends.

You can delete the post.

You can delete their comment.

You can decide you're never sharing anything publicly again.

Or...

You can let them.

And THAT has probably been the most interesting part of this little social media experiment for me.

Let them misunderstand me.

Let them jump to conclusions.

Let them have an opinion.

Let them think I'm wrong.

Let them type the angry comment.

Let them rage-bait.

Let them gather underneath somebody else's comment and fire each other up.

Let them.

Because their reaction does not automatically become my responsibility.

That doesn't mean I refuse criticism.

There is a gigantic difference between criticism and cruelty.

There is also a gigantic difference between someone challenging your thinking and someone simply wanting to make you feel small.

I actually WANT people to challenge my thinking.

Tell me something I don't know.

Show me another perspective.

Bring receipts.

Make me think harder.

That is how we learn.

That is how conversations become bigger than the person who started them.

But somebody being loud does not automatically make them right.

And somebody being angry does not automatically mean I owe them a defense.

That has been a really interesting lesson for me.

Because there is something incredibly uncomfortable about watching somebody completely misunderstand your intentions and choosing not to chase after them yelling,

“WAIT! THAT ISN'T WHAT I MEANT!”

Sometimes you just have to let them walk away thinking whatever they're going to think.

Oof.

That'll exercise a muscle you didn't know needed exercising.

Especially if you're someone who wants to be understood.

Especially if you genuinely were trying to help.

Especially if you know there was more nuance to what you said than what somebody reduced it to in six angry sentences and seventeen exclamation points.

But maybe that is exactly where the growth is.

Holding fast without becoming hard.

Standing behind yourself without needing to attack someone else.

Being willing to reconsider your position when somebody brings you something valuable, while also being willing to leave the garbage sitting exactly where somebody dropped it.

Not every comment deserves your energy.

Not every accusation requires a defense.

Not every misunderstanding requires clarification.

And not everybody gets to drag you down into the mud simply because they invited you.

There’s an old saying about killing people with kindness.

Horse trainer John Lyons has used that phrase for years, and I think there is something to it.

Not fake kindness.

Not passive-aggressive “bless your heart” kindness.

Actual composure.

Sometimes kindness looks like:

“Thanks for sharing your perspective.”

Sometimes it looks like answering a legitimate question calmly.

Sometimes it looks like admitting, “You know what? That's a good point.”

And sometimes kindness looks like saying absolutely nothing.

Let the comment sit there.

Let the person have it.

Let the internet keep spinning.

Because perhaps one of the strangest freedoms we can learn in this hyperconnected world is this:

Other people are allowed to be wrong about us.

They are allowed to misunderstand.

They are allowed to disagree.

They are allowed to form an opinion from three paragraphs of our lives.

They are even allowed to be nasty about it.

And we are allowed to keep going.

That doesn't mean becoming indifferent.

It doesn't mean we stop listening.

It doesn't mean we decide everybody who disagrees with us is an idiot.

Actually, I think it requires the opposite.

Listen carefully enough to separate the criticism worth considering from the noise worth leaving behind.

Take what makes you think.

Take what teaches you something.

Take what exposes a blind spot.

Leave the pitchforks.

And maybe the next time somebody comes blazing into your comment section like they've been personally appointed prosecutor of the internet...

Don't immediately reach for your own torch.

Read it.

Think about it.

Take whatever is useful.

Then, if there's nothing useful there?

Let them.

Hold fast.

Let it roll.

And keep doing whatever good thing you were trying to do before somebody with Wi-Fi decided you needed burning at the stake.