Last night, over an adult beverage (VERY light gin and tonic), some friends, along with Tia, my wife, kidded me for spending so much time on Facebook.
“He’s on it all the time,” Tia said untruthfully, although I knew what she meant.
My friends dumped on, calling me, in effect, pathetic.
“He railed against it constantly,” Tia added, “before he joined. Made me feel guilty I was checking to see what my nieces, nephews and friends who live far away were doing.”
“OK,” I said, rallying my defenses. “My being on Facebook ‘all the time’ just proves my point that it’s addictive.”
My interlocutors looked dubious, but I originally shunned Facebook because of the time it stole from other things people could be doing – reading, writing, exercising, watching TCM. But when my two books were published – just in time for the pandemic to squash a launch party and readings – if I wanted to sell copies, I’d need to reach out to people through social media.
Yes, I admitted to still logging onto Facebook several times a day. Worse still, I find myself scrolling mindlessly through an infinite number of posts, five, 10, 15, sometimes 30 minutes passing unnoticed.
I’d become a victim of the very state of mind I’d warned and railed against.
To better judge whether I would miss Facebook’s content, on a recent Sunday morning I scrolled through my algorithm’s first 10 posts.
1. A columnist’s sarcastic comments about inflationary gas prices.
2. Ad: Searchlight Pictures, “See How They Run.” Clips of people in ties and police garb yelling at one another.
3. Photo by an acquaintance of two pairs of shoes, adult and child’s.
4. Photos of a newborn to the daughter (I might have met once) of a woman I knew 60 years ago. 136 Likes, Loves, etc. 38 comments.
5. Eight photos of a tribe of indigenous people on a football field posted by a childhood friend.
6. From Feminist News, news that “The Handmaid’s Tale” was coming soon to Florida.
7. Ad: Northwestern Medicine “Fall Prevention at Any Age.”
8. The husband of my wife’s former colleague celebrated a nephew in his high school football uniform.
9. A longtime friend linked her blog on “Crisis in Education.” After 19 hours, only one Like. Mine made it two.
10. Ad: WBEZ – donate to the radio station and win a trip to Scotland.
To summarize, 30% ads, 10% satire, 10% thoughtful pedagogical analysis, 10% opinion, 40% photos from people I hardly know.
Nothing, I concluded, I couldn’t do without.
Then there’s envy. My self-esteem shrinks when staring at gourmet meals I’m not sharing, laughing families I’m not laughing with, seaside cottages I’m not sitting on the porches of, and celebrations of achievements not mine. Selfish and curmudgeonly? Sure, but I can’t help feeling depressed watching everyone else enjoying lives more glamorous, successful and jovial than mine.
Finally, Wordle world. Do people posting their daily results truly believe others care? Sadly, I guess so.
I may not officially sign off. I may go into hiding – not posting, but checking in from time to time (not more than once a day!?) on what my algorithm thinks will tempt me back.
But farewell for now, Facebook Friends. I’ll be in touch – maybe. I might even post you – on thick stationery with a fountain pen, posted in a mailbox.
How anachronistic. How personal. How wonderful.
• Rick Holinger’s writing has appeared in more than 100 literary journals. He holds a Ph.D. in creative writing from UIC. His poetry book “North of Crivitz” and essay collection “Kangaroo Rabbits and Galvanized Fences” are available at local bookstores, Amazon or richardholinger.net. Contact him at editorial@kcchronicle.com.