No one has ever accused me of being a maverick. Well, except for that business of quitting my job post-middle age, buying a farmstead and commencing to learn how to grow food. But that exception granted, my life has otherwise been notable for its predictability - reliability, I hope, and integrity; a willingness to help, I pray, and a quiet pursuit of excellence. I’ve been a team player, serving on more boards and committees and task-forces than was good for me, but was, I hope, helpful to those organizations. I’ve been agreeable, congenial, a bridge-builder if I’ve contributed anything at all, and a thought provoker. I have at least sought to encourage purposefulness and principled intentionality. I value cruise control in my car, but decry it in every other aspect of life. I’ve rarely been a contrarian; never been a radical flame-thrower, and as my co-workers often lamented, only reluctantly become confrontational. In recent years, studying the enneagram, I’ve learned that I’m a nine - one of those “peacemakers” who just wants everyone to be happy and play nice.
I play nice. Even if I don’t much care for you or the moment. If that makes me dishonest, at least I’m a congenial fake.
Recently, however, I made the decision to close my Facebook account, and I’m both surprised at and a little embarrassed by how radical that feels.
Let me quickly add that, in the grand scheme of things, it is not very significant at all. The reciprocal killings in the Middle East? That is significant. The corruption and disintegration of American democracy? That’s a tectonic shift with global implications. Climate change? I haven’t the words to characterize the future repercussions. Tim Diebel leaving Facebook? No, that doesn’t even ripple the water collected in my clogged sink.
For some reason, however, it feels big; consequential even. Bold. Why is that?
It might have something to do with how routinized and reflexive our collective use of Facebook has become. Posting on Facebook has become almost autonomic - like breathing and blinking. That’s true, at least, for some. Ever since I went public with my intention to unplug from Facebook, I’ve been surprised to discover how many of my friends did so long ago - or never jumped into Facebook to begin with. I’ve been equally moved by the number of respondents confessing that they “wished they could” or “wished they would” take the same action.
Which is simply, albeit anecdotally, to muse that Facebook may not be as ubiquitous as I supposed.
Much has been written about the societal impact of the social media phenomenon. Social scientists will no doubt be analyzing such questions for years to come. Has it changed us? Has it harmed us? Has it helped, informed, broadened and connected us? Maybe - to all those questions.
I cannot speak for anyone else, and I have no moral authority from which to advise others about what they should or should not be doing with their time and their social media feeds.
Reflecting on my own experience and decision, however, I can make a few observations by way of accounting for my own choice. There is much positive to say about reconnecting with friends and acquaintances, and sharing one another’s ebbs and flows. In truth, I’ll miss that. It will be incumbent on me to exercise new strategies for keeping in touch. Perhaps we “over share” the miscellaneous flora and fauna of our lives, but there are worse mistakes we could make in our life.
I will not miss, however, the misinformation, the disinformation, and the constant, almost irresistible airing of our worst selves. This happens most often within the “groups” of which I am a member, where oxygen seems to come from complaining about the bananas at the local grocery store or the temperature of the pizza at the new eatery in town, and the voluble retorts from those who disagree. I have nothing to add to the sports commentary that regularly fills the feeds. I don’t really have time for the political harangues that vent and offend but never inform, enrich or persuade. For some reason on Facebook we feel a kind of permission to be offensive, abusive, insulting and dismissive toward each other in ways not typically true face to face.
The simple fact is that too much of the time, I just don’t care about what pops up in my feed. Threaded along, to be sure, is inspiration and humor and wisdom and joy, but finding such threads takes persistence and work in the face of Facebook’s algorithmic tyranny and our own vulgar depravity. And I’ve become convinced that my time can be better spent. I don’t leave angry or hurt or alienated or frustrated. I simply leave in search of something more.
Which might suggest that cutting ties to Facebook is a radical act, after all. Etymologically, the word “radical” is all about going to the root, and Facebook seems to me to be all about the leaves. There is nothing wrong with leaves or course - especially this time of year. But in this season of my life, roots seem more compelling - more anchoring and nourishing, and ultimately more connected with the world surrounding them.
And so I pull the plug on this great social experiment of social media. To borrow a phrase, "It's been fun, but it hasn't been that much fun." I wish you well on Facebook if you remain there. I hope we can stay in touch through other channels. Maybe even face to face.
Now that would be radical, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment