I took a quick survey on the train ride home this past Wednesday. Of the 53 people in my car, 39 had at least one college degree, 1 had an iPhone, and 0 knew who Robert Scoble was.

A few thoughts:

In spite of the hype thrown at us by social media pundits,

• You can still buy a hard copy edition of many newspapers.
• People still listen to the radio.
• The average American still watches TV like it pays the rent.

It’s easy to build an intellectual echo chamber of like-minded individuals online. But what’s the value? Happily singing around a campfire doesn’t change the fact that there are hungry bears in the forest.

How many times do you need to be patted on the back before you realize how creepy it is to be in a room full of people patting each other on the back?

Have we allowed ourselves to become so caught up in The Conversation that having our voice heard now matters more than having something to say?

Are we so excited about how much dirt we can move by spinning the tires on this newfangled social media loader that we forget to use the bucket?

We’ve got something powerful here. Why must we so freely waste it?

I’m disgusted that we (I include myself in this) are so easily drawn into pointless genital-measuring and leap after red herrings like there are no more fish in the sea.

I’m not sure of a solution, but I think we’d do well to spend less time talking about passion and more time talking about action steps that the passionate can use to make a difference.

Your thoughts?

photo: martin

Are you wasting your connections?

“Twitter is what you make of it.”

I hear the phrase daily from new users. Of course, those masticating on their new-found Twitter treat are right. I hate to say it, but they are. Speaking of hating newfinders, why do we so often resent people who discover something long after we’ve swum in its delights? Shouldn’t we gladly welcome them?

As we welcome all the new users and celebrate their enthusiasm, I’d like to ask you something:

What are you making of Twitter?

I get a kick out of asking questions on Twitter. (Facebookers and Myspacers, you’re lovely people but most of you have 12-36hr response times. Sorry, but I’m dealing with a TV-dinner-shaped attention span here.)

Sunday evening I thought it’d be a wondrous time to ask the brilliant minds on Twitter a thoughtful question: (I thought it was, at least.)

Imagine what your answer would be to my question. Do you have a 140-character response fixed in your mind? Excellent!

Rick Wolff took the time to craft the following:

I’m pretty certain you didn’t see that one coming. I know I didn’t.

That’s the beauty of Twitter. If you’ve not used the service before, imagine what it’d be like if every text message you sent was copied to every one of your phone contacts. You are also copied on every text they send. That’s Twitter. It’s mayhem. Like most mayhem involving people, the results are unreliable and the rubbish smells enough to make the beauty hard to swallow at times.

That is, until a complete stranger tells you that your brain is a fish tank.

If my brain is a fish tank and my ideas are fish that swim around in it, I have a lot of questions to answer.

• Am I careful to change the water regularly so my ideas stay healthy and clearly defined?
• Do I keep many tiny fish or do just a few big fish that eat everything in their path?
• Should I give my fish away, keep them for myself, or sell them to the highest bidder?

When somebody tells you your brain is a fish tank, questions like that just come up naturally.

Have you tried asking thoughtful questions on Twitter or other social media platforms? You probably won’t receive thousands of retweets, likes, thumbs-up, etc. But the responses you do get will often be thoughtful, insightful, and sometimes downright awesome. Give it a try!

Is there something you’ve been thinking about that you’d like my take on? Drop me a question in a comment. I look forward to our conversation!

Click to feed the Twitter fish!

photo: alan stoddard