Last week, I did the unthinkable. I did something that I never thought I’d do. I deactivated my Facebook account. Yes, it only lasted a week, but I’ve been on “the book” for almost six years and losing my account was like losing the hot water in my apartment—I lost part of my routine.
What I miss about Facebook is that I feel like I’m missing a part of myself—the cyber world part of me who can make witty comments without actually ever having to be witty in person (I openly admit that sometimes I take up to ten minutes to perfectly word a wall post), who can easily gain a boost of self-confidence with a simple “like” on a status update (one of my favorites being “likes you” so that the status reads “Victoria Thompson likes you”), or who, thanks to the rightful and delightful act of de-tagging, never looks bad in a picture. Yes—Facebook is a different side of me. It’s the well thought out side that balances out my outrageous, spontaneous, never-really-thinks-before-she-speaks side of me.
Facebook is not a cheap hooker; it’s more like a woman you’d take home to mom—perfect on paper, but maybe a little nuts in real life. Facebook is like your social resume. No, that doesn’t mean that you have to be “cool” to have a social life or friends on Facebook—it means that if “Dungeons and Dragons” is in your interests, all you have to do is click on it, and Facebook will list everyone who also likes “Dungeons and Dragons.” You find your own “cool” thanks to the world of Facebook.
While deactivating my account I was forced to retire from the “administrator” position of numerous groups that I created, which, even though I am still interested and active in those aspects of my social life without Facebook, the act of stepping down as administrator made me question how much I actually enjoyed these things—my field hockey team, pressing the handicapped button to open the door to buildings even though I am fully capable of opening the door myself, my study abroad program—all of these groups said something about who I am. No one would know that I like pressing the handicapped button by merely talking to me in person.
The act of “facebooking” itself is somewhat of a win-lose situation. On one hand, Facebook has helped me procrastinate, get in touch with people from my 5th grade dance class, and even helped me share the story of a man wearing a Spiderman costume trying to climb up a wall in South Boston, and it wasn’t even Halloween (what better way to inform the public of that insanity than a status update). But, on the other hand, Facebook had turned me into a photo maniac—two weeks ago I found myself looking through pictures of the boyfriend of a girl from my 6th grade class whom I maybe said four words to (never mind the fact that I have no idea who her boyfriend is!). I was appalled.
Nevertheless, Facebook has become a way of life. On the first three days of my week off from “the book,” I received a bunch of text messages from my friends saying “I just went to write on your wall, where’s your Facebook!” but mid-week, the texts stopped coming and I realized that if I have any hope of maintaining contact with people I might not ever see again, it’s up to me to stick with Facebook. I have to publish my witty thoughts, give them a status they can laugh about, and mindlessly click through random pictures, posts, newsfeeds, events, and interests just so I can put that research paper off a little longer because my name is Victoria Thompson and I’m a Facebook-aholic.
No comments:
Post a Comment