I picked the wrong weekend to return to Facebook.
It’s no secret, I have a small capacity for the constant churning machine that social media often is. Most days, it’s loud enough in my own head without adding voices of dissent and dissatisfaction muddying up my synapses. I suppose this is one right of the mentally ill. The removal of oneself from the entanglements of being ever present, ever vigilant, and ever available is self-care at it’s highest form. Maybe that’s true for everyone but (most) people give me a pass if I’m not online for weeks. Maybe it’s the margin to heal that leaves my laptop collecting dust and my phone on silent in my purse. It’s not great for building platform or growing an audience for my writing but it keeps me from not being around in a few years. I’d say that’s a good trade.
Still, I made my comeback after several months of relative silence and logged back in to my Facebook and Twitter. It was the week of the inauguration and Women’s March. Now you may be one of those people who selectively chooses friends online who most always think as you do and live as you do and therefore like, post, and interact as you do. Maybe that’s how some people survive the hostile waters of online social interaction, they simply keep their heads down and avoid the waves. But it’s safe to say that for many of us, that’s not the case. You might have a crazy uncle who always posts fake news or a fellow church member whose Facebook opinions not only clash with yours but are diametrically opposed. You, like me, might scroll through your feed and find endless controversy from one post to the next because your friends and family are from such diverse viewpoints. You, like me, might find it hard not to feel outraged yourself by the things being posted.
But outrage is exhausting and destructive after a while unless it’s impetus is channeled somewhere meaningful. It’ll sure get you going but it often doesn’t end well…
