This is the second day since I deleted my Facebook account. I joined back in 2009, so that’s seven years of posts, comments, threads, friendships, “friendships”, and more gone forever. I don’t have to look back very far here to see that I’ve tried deactivating my account in order to gain some separation from all the things whirling around in the world. I’ve tried it a few times. It didn’t work. I’m an idiot child. I’ll follow any distraction through the trees and into the rape van it’s got parked behind the community center. Not that Facebook is a rape van, but it is, kind of.
So I deleted it. It wasn’t hard. I like scorching the earth behind me, leaving nowhere to go but ahead. A bunch of years back, someone robbed my house and took my cold weather coats, my stereo, and my laptop. I didn’t have anything backed up. Everything I’d written since grad school through the first three years of my career was gone. Stories, letters, poetry. I wasn’t upset though. I felt lighter, freer And I felt an urgency to go out and make new things.
I’ve gained at least two hours per day over the last couple days. It’s ridiculous but it’s true. I’m not all chummy with my phone anymore either. I don’t check it when I wake up. I don’t don’t check it during the day. I hardly look at it at all. I know I’m missing out on stuff. My friends from everywhere are writing smart, hilarious things and sharing art I’d want to see. I’m already out of the loop on all the latest outrages and gaffes and revelations and listicles and deaths and statistics and outrages, again. It really is a loop, accelerating, feeding back, blowing apart and then reforming, giving me no time to sit in the afternoon breeze and wonder what’s happening with me.