I’ve been deactivated from Facebook for a few weeks now. I’ve flirted with deactivation before, several times. I don’t blame people for not believing that this time I wouldn’t go through with it.
Life is easier.
The peace and the silence. It clears my head.
I’m not saying Facebook is without virtue. It connected me with so many people. I miss so many of them.
But the negativity.
There were a few events in particular that forced my decision. People leaving me out, snubbing me in person, friending everyone else online but me — I felt like I was in seventh grade again, standing on the edge of a school dance while the popular group drifted past and hissed, “omg. You look like a boy. Go home.” –As I tried to stand taller, and feign indifference, but dying inside.
I want to think we grow up and leave those adolescent selves where they belong, but the social phenomenon of sites such as Facebook reminds me that we really don’t.
I’m 45 years old, for goodness’ sakes. It’s ridiculous to feel wounded over something so trivial as an online social interaction.
When I’m hurt, I withdraw. (This is not sulking. I’m thinking.)
I realized I was much too drawn into everyone else’s muchy-much. This is not all about me. It certainly shouldn’t be.
I realized I was much happier when I didn’t know what everyone was saying, doing, and thinking all of the time, and to who, and for how long, and in what detail. That maybe a little privacy in their direction would go a long way toward my own sanity.
In other words: I didn’t want to know.
I had to smile, a little, even, because I never realized until I deactivated how much I was starting to think like my father (“if you want to tell me, you will.”).
I keep getting messages from people asking where I went, why I went, and if I’m going to come back.
Truthfully? I wouldn’t look for me anytime soon.
Facebook is an arena that maybe my skin is too thin for. If I kept leaving the room in tears, then I think it was time to go.
This is the summer of unplugged: of watching the sun rise, watercoloring until the boys get up, and languishing the summer afternoons away with them as the birds sing. Life is taking a slower pace, a different direction. I am not sad.