I’d like to move away from social media and know my friends privately.
While I talk to my son about how screens are another form of addiction, I death scroll nightly through my phone looking at Instagram as if it held the key to knowledge and understanding.
It does not.
My knowledge and wisdom are vast, but I don’t treat my encyclopedic experience as if it matters. I read a post on Instagram and take a snapshot and share, I pause long enough to believe it is new information
It is not.
New information is when you’re presented with a sudden change in direction and you flow with the new. New understanding is when a deluge of tragic news – a teen takes his life, a teen drowns, a toddler is diagnosed with cancer – and you breathe in this awareness without falling into the cracks of devastation.
Imagine picking up Instagram and all that was there were reels of your friends’ fears – I’m not good enough, I’m scared my partner is cheating on me, I worry I won’t be loved again, my creativity has run its course. You’d scroll and scroll trying to find that hit of dopamine – where’s the funny? Where’s the pithy? Where’s my zen dropping?
And all that comes to you is a real downer.
Meanwhile, inside of you is a vault of images, sayings, memes, senses, knowings – butterflies hovering over milkweed, a crane hidden that takes sudden flight from the ditch, rays of sunshine tickling the belly of an outstretched cat, the soft touch of a lover, an old joke that still makes you chuckle, a friend’s name.
I want to scroll through my archives. I want to know my friends in private. To share our hidden gems via inside jokes and knowing glances.
[Thank you for reading my writing; I love hearing from you and
would love to gather your responses here, instead of on social media.]