Monday, January 4, 2010
Would This Be a Good Status?
It went through my head all the time, and then the emails asking if something was wrong started almost immediately. "Did you defriend me? I thought we were cool?" or "Is everything ok? I saw you weren't online anymore?"
It happened quickly, with one keystroke on a random Sunday. I didn't deactivate, I deleted. And it was entirely and completely necessary. As I've hearkened to many concerned compatriots, it was as though I broke up with an addict boyfriend who depleted me of resources needed to survive, namely time.
Dramatic? Yes. But it was for me. Quitting Facebook was symbolic of my "less should, more want" (LSMW) philosophy. It had become another thing I had to do, or should do, before I went to bed, before I brushed my teeth, before I got to work, before I got home and no, not everyone takes it to this extreme. I envy my husband for using his CTA commute to update his status and engage, not a minute more.
But inherent to my first 30 years was a desire to connect, and I thrive on contact with others. I get a lot out of reading about someone's failed pot roast and commenting that I ruined a porterhouse just the same or I know the remedy for what ails them. It made me feel important, validated my role in the larger world and provided a bullet point under my definition of "success."
But the time suck was painstaking, and the hours clocked by without a care and none of my wants were getting anywhere near the top of the "to do" list and so. . . delete.
I had an itch on New Year's Day. Create a profile again. Add all the revelers I had met the night before. Connect, connect, connect. It was exactly the same feeling for me as resisting a cupcake in a window. Keep walking, keeping thinking and move on. . . because I'm getting more of my wants met from within (with plenty of hurdles along the way). I don't need it for sure.
But I don't even want it anymore.
*Disclaimer - This is in no way meant to offend anyone who still loves Facebook. I mean, I still do. I mourn it daily and allow myself to check my husband's once in awhile. I can't handle missing baby photos or updates from Africa. But I think of it like having a Snackwell instead of an Oreo. Just a taste, fewer calories and no commitment. I'm still me, after all.