Today’s topic: social networking, or as your kindergarten teacher used to call it, “making friends”. Though looking back, I think it’s a bit ironic that we were all taught how to make friends in kindergarten. Back then, potential playmates were all around us and the bar for friendship was set pretty low. Share your toys, don’t punch anyone, don’t pick your nose, and you were golden. Things are a bit trickier out in the real world.

In the real world, it’s hard to find a social network. Worse than that, it’s hard to build a social network of folks you actually like when you don’t have an Admissions Office pre-screening everyone you come into contact with. Now, there are ways to confront this problem directly. One can hit up the bar scene and scout out folks with compatible astrological signs. Or search through MySpace for other Clevelanders who like cats, postmodernism, Italian food, and Mozart’s piano concerto in C Minor, K. 491. (If that’s what you want in a friend). These are perfectly valid strategies. But for now, I want to talk about a different theory about how to meet people, a model I’ve dubbed The Butterfly Theory of Social Networking.

This name, of course, alludes to that old standby of cheesy time travel movies, the butterfly effect. For those of you not in the know, the “butterfly effect” refers to what happens when a butterfly in Guatemala flaps its wings, producing a tiny gust of air. This breeze disturbs a nearby toucan, which takes to the sky, setting off an unpredictable chain reaction of atmospheric events that eventually lead to tropical storms ravaging the Eastern seaboard. Towns are flooded, trees knocked down, power lines felled, computers zapped, files lost, and next thing you know, you’re begging for an extension on your physics lab. Yeah, you probably should’ve finished it four days ago instead of watching the full second season of Lost on DVD, but, really, you swear, you still would’ve had it done if only it hadn’t been for that stupid insect. The butterfly effect backs you up. (Your professor might not).

The Butterfly Theory of Social Networking holds that you can develop a perfectly respectable social network just by getting off your butt and out into the world, even if you have nothing better to do once you’re there than flap your wings aimlessly. There’s no guarantee exactly what sort of chaos you’ll cause by doing this, but you’re still a heck of a lot more likely to meet people that way than by cocooning yourself in your apartment all day long.

Half of the message here is simply to get out into the world and see what it has to offer you. Take a walk around the block. You never when you might get caught in a freak rainstorm (perhaps caused by an errant butterfly?); duck into a bookstore for cover; discover your favorite author is doing a reading there; strike up a conversation with a fellow fan; get invited to join his book group; go there; and on the way home get into a fender-bender with a nice young graduate student and in the process of sharing insurance information become friends for life. This exact chain of events might be unlikely, but it’s one of infinitely many individually unlikely occurrences that could happen to you once you’re out in the world. Many of which are far less convoluted. The point is, there are definite, if uncertain and unpredictable, benefits to being out in the world. (Not the mention the obvious benefit that all these forays around the block, to the bookstore, hither and thither, are certain to improve your cardiovascular system). You never know where you’ll meet people. If you’re clever, you can even manipulate the vagaries of fate by choosing props even before an untimely occurrence sends you scuttling into a bookstore. Sport a shirt advertising your favorite band or bring your favorite Greek epic along to read on your train ride. Cool folks who aren’t cursed with stereotypical Swattie social awkwardness just might be inspired to strike up a conversation with you.

The other half of the message is to take advantage of the social opportunities that are presented to you, however lackluster they might seem at first. For instance, imagine your co-worker Steve invites you to his Halloween party. Steve is sort of dull and a bit of a showoff. You’ve never loved Halloween and haven’t got a clue what you’d wear for a costume. In fact, you’re allergic to latex masks and chocolate candy. The point is, while you’ve got a boatload of reasons to decline his invitation, still lots of good could come from you accepting it. You might love the party after all. You might hate the party and skulk off alone to nurse your cup of punch in a corner, where you encounter Samantha, who also hates the party, and the two of you spend the night recounting your awful Halloweens past and laughing at Dracula trying to put the moves on Betty Boop. Then you exchange contact information and meet up with two of her friends and from that your social network blossoms. Bonding with a girl in a Snow White costume over your mutual distaste of Almond Joys probably wasn’t on your short list of ways to find new friends. But it’s the sort of beautifully unpredictable thing that can result from making efforts to flap your wings.

Until next time,

Swattie Emeritus