I keep seeing books about Facebook, like all of us who didn't invent it can now cash in because there's so much conversation to be had-- so much money to be made-- by utilizing Facebook.
Ironically, I also see a trend in kissing Facebook goodbye. It was shortly after the Time article came out touting Facebook as the answer to all humanities' ills that a friend of mine shut down his account. He said he just wasted too much time online. So when his roommate double dog dared him to pull the plug for six months, he accepted. At this point I was in the Czech Republic, where online living is even more rampant than in the US of A. So it was a bold move. Events were on Facebook. If I wanted Jake at my party, I had to text or email him separately. And that safe, simple 'like' feature was gone. If I liked something Jake said or did, had to tell him to his face. His actual face.
Six months into it, Jake succeeded, still had friends and re-upped his account. But as the months passed, I started receiving the occasional announcement that went something like this: "Hi Friends. I've decided that Facebook is too dramatic/time consuming/degrading/depressing (this part varied, but you could see a common thread) and I'm cancelling my account." More often, though, there was no announcement, no heads up. You just went to search for your friend one day and, technically, they were no more.
One such friend cancelled her account and I never noticed. It wasn't until we were talking on the phone that she mentioned it in passing, but that's the beauty of it. The friendship survives without Facebook. It seems obvious, but I think sometimes people get confused over friends and friends you never have a conversation with but who like your status a lot.
Another friend dropped her account, admitting that it was a source of affirmation for her. "You post something and check to see how many people commented." This is an old school concept wrapped in shiny new packaging-- how many texts, how many emails, how many appointments, how many dates, how full is my planner, they've all been measures of worth to people at one time or another. You feel loved because everyone notices. But just like a slew of texts, it's nothing to base your identity on. And it fluctuates.
In time, Jake re-cancelled his account. I guess the facebookless time was a good one. And the missing person list continues to grow.
So all that said, I'm not joining the abdication of Facebook. But, I'm not checking it either. Not for a while. It's sort of been the natural ebb of life right now, and I'm sure I'll be back soon enough, posting pictures and talking about life's daily adventures. Don't get me wrong, I like likes as much as anybody, and I like liking, plus plenty of actual conversations happen online. But for right now, in this season, I feel a strong pull to focus on conversations that happen outside of Facebook. Besides, if someone really wants to get in touch, my email address is hidden in plain sight, right there under 'Contact Information."
Ironically, I also see a trend in kissing Facebook goodbye. It was shortly after the Time article came out touting Facebook as the answer to all humanities' ills that a friend of mine shut down his account. He said he just wasted too much time online. So when his roommate double dog dared him to pull the plug for six months, he accepted. At this point I was in the Czech Republic, where online living is even more rampant than in the US of A. So it was a bold move. Events were on Facebook. If I wanted Jake at my party, I had to text or email him separately. And that safe, simple 'like' feature was gone. If I liked something Jake said or did, had to tell him to his face. His actual face.
Six months into it, Jake succeeded, still had friends and re-upped his account. But as the months passed, I started receiving the occasional announcement that went something like this: "Hi Friends. I've decided that Facebook is too dramatic/time consuming/degrading/depressing (this part varied, but you could see a common thread) and I'm cancelling my account." More often, though, there was no announcement, no heads up. You just went to search for your friend one day and, technically, they were no more.
One such friend cancelled her account and I never noticed. It wasn't until we were talking on the phone that she mentioned it in passing, but that's the beauty of it. The friendship survives without Facebook. It seems obvious, but I think sometimes people get confused over friends and friends you never have a conversation with but who like your status a lot.
Another friend dropped her account, admitting that it was a source of affirmation for her. "You post something and check to see how many people commented." This is an old school concept wrapped in shiny new packaging-- how many texts, how many emails, how many appointments, how many dates, how full is my planner, they've all been measures of worth to people at one time or another. You feel loved because everyone notices. But just like a slew of texts, it's nothing to base your identity on. And it fluctuates.
In time, Jake re-cancelled his account. I guess the facebookless time was a good one. And the missing person list continues to grow.
So all that said, I'm not joining the abdication of Facebook. But, I'm not checking it either. Not for a while. It's sort of been the natural ebb of life right now, and I'm sure I'll be back soon enough, posting pictures and talking about life's daily adventures. Don't get me wrong, I like likes as much as anybody, and I like liking, plus plenty of actual conversations happen online. But for right now, in this season, I feel a strong pull to focus on conversations that happen outside of Facebook. Besides, if someone really wants to get in touch, my email address is hidden in plain sight, right there under 'Contact Information."
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