URSABLOG: Digital Detox

A few months ago I deleted my Facebook account, having got rid of my Instagram account last summer. I am sorry to report that my life has not changed appreciably for the better; I haven’t suddenly found time to complete my novel, volunteer to assist the homeless or create elaborate recipes with alarming ingredients. But I do feel better for it: my mind is clearer and less cluttered. Having never really seen the point of Twitter, Snapchat or Tiktok, the only platform I remain on is LinkedIn, and although I use WhatsApp, Skype, Viber to communicate, they are only distracting if you want to spend your time aimlessly texting random acquaintances.

Facebook was a thief of time, but I became increasingly distracted by the other people on there, my ‘friends’. Not only could they text me, appropriately or otherwise, whenever they liked, they could be doing things that I wanted to do, sharing things that made think “nice’ all the way through to “WTF?” and further on to “FML”. Admittedly I had collected an excessive number of ‘friends’, but it was only when I considered my ‘friends’ that I realised the real danger. For the majority, I knew little or nothing about who they really were and what they thought, aside from a few photos and comments. I made assumptions instead. And if I spent any real time thinking further about it, I came to realise that there was very little basis for a real friendship. If you are a previous Facebook friend of mine and are offended by this observation but have never taken wine with me, then I think I have made my point.

I also realised that I didn’t think too much about what I posted: sometimes I thought I was being cool, or wanted to get a lot of likes, or I was feeling sorry for myself, or wanted to send a message to someone without picking up the phone or writing to them, or I wanted to shout something to the world at general, but whatever I posted allowed people to form opinions about me and my lifestyle, my politics, my habits which were completely at odds with who I think I am. Of course this will happen anyway and there is nothing we can do about it, but it is ironic that the more obsessive we become about the content on our feeds, the more we want to say who we are and the more effort we take policing our online presence then the less control we have of our place in the world.

In leaving Facebook I need not have bothered about the thing I was most worried about - losing touch with friends and family. I am still in contact with the people I want to be in contact with, and if people want to get in touch with me they know where to find me. And if anyone is foolish or bored enough to try and stalk me then they can read any number of these blogs available freely online to find out how I live and what I think. But as that takes a lot more brain effort than scrolling through a few photos and jumping to conclusions, few, if any, bother to do it.

I have never worried too much about ‘fake news’ because I think I know what is real or not, but I find life refreshing without getting angry, depressed, or amused at what people think about something. I really don’t care: I now care more about facts, and they are very precious things, if only because they are so rare, and also because they are easily ignored or dismissed if they prove inconvenient. I have long since stopped reading about Brexit (What will happen if there is a no deal situation? Who is to blame? When will it take place?) as any comment fed on itself and quickly became meaningless.

This is now true of the coronavirus: I do not bother reading anything unless it contains real news or real facts. I suspect that a large part of this a reaction to my own stupidity: having said and written that it was nothing to worry about in the short, then medium, then long term, and then waiting for the super boost to arrive, the penny finally dropped that things will never return to how they were. In fact, the main effect of the coronavirus on me - beyond the loss of my dear godfather – is that it has pierced my smug know-it-all armour: I am convinced of nothing now except that we are all like little children lost in the forest, waiting and hoping for someone or something good to lead us out. Even as the pleasant daydreams of a different way of living mused on during lockdown fade, the blame games, the positioning for power and influence resurface as money flies out the door, and none can be found to replace it. So I have therefore found another reason to be happy I am no longer on Facebook: I don’t have to read or witness this behaviour from people I love, admire and respect. I can remain in ignorance until they open their mouths (or emails, or WhatsApp etc) to tell me about it, and I can reply accordingly.

The stupidity of mankind, generally or individually, was not created by Facebook of course, but Facebook’s profitability shows us that none of us is above what we are hardwired to do. All Facebook does is manipulate, exploit and amplify these innate tendencies of ours into a network that mirrors what are afraid of, or embarrassed of, or proud of, or in need of. We need friends, we need a story, we need messengers, we need to be liked, and it’s all a lot easier when we don’t have to come out of our comfort zone to do it.

I was talking with a good friend of mine yesterday about the dry bulk carrier market. We have known each other for about 17 years, and survived the ups and downs of various deals we have done together. Some were brilliant, some were less so, and some ended in that special place where stories are told between brokers late into the alcohol buffered night. He told me he had a ship spot, and the market was terrible, and he was wondering what to do. The reason? The Brazilian coronavirus lockdown will reduce the shipments out of ports. I commented that it was the southern hemisphere’s turn for COVID-19, he commented that there was a possibility to carry out repair works in China now.

Later in the day I reflected on this conversation, and decided to look further into the real situation in Brazil. There is nothing I can find (please correct me and point me in the right direction if I am wrong) that suggests that exports will be slowing down due to port closures in Brazil. It’s business as usual. And whether or not the coronavirus gets blasted by the summer remains to be seen. But the rumour of a problem that has yet to materialise let alone be proven will drive sentiment one way or the other. This is how markets work, this is how cycles exaggerate, overshooting or overcorrecting.

In the dry ship sale and purchase market rumours of a different nature fly around; we are more focussed on the assets than the cargo flows. About ten days ago I was asked whether a ship from one of my owners was sold. This question came as a surprise, and after I got over the paranoia that normally accompanies such a query, I told the broker who SKYPE’d me, “no, not at all”. The prices were too low, there was no reason to sell at such low numbers, and so on. Nevertheless I got the same query from two other brokers, so I alerted my client and told him. And, with his surprise, and assurances that the ship was not sold, or even for sale, or even being discussed, I felt good that I was on top of what was going on. Since then, the same question keeps on coming up, and if you read the S&P market reports see if you can spot the rumoured sale. Because, and I can count on this, there will be brokers who will report it without checking because they have nothing else to report, or because it suits their narrative, or because they don’t believe me even though I assure them it’s not the case “because he would say that wouldn’t he.”

What is truth? What are facts? Do I recognise my own innate need for a narrative that will give me comfort? How ready am I to face uncomfortable truths, let alone inconvenient ones? Will I spread different rumours to counteract those that damage me? Can I stand above the fray and converse with my fellow human beings let alone buy and sell ships? I don’t know the answers, but I hope that soon I will be able to stop myself being swept along by whatever currents are flowing around without first questioning their source, direction and motive. In the meantime I can assure you that coming off Facebook has helped me at least think more about these things, which feels like a good thing, for now at least. I recommend it. 

Simon Ward

www.ursashipbrokers.com