I left Facebook nearly a week ago, but ventured back on while I was sitting on my laptop waiting to be called for jury duty. I was hoping some ounce of sanity had returned, but, much like having coffee with an ex to reminisce about the old times, it took two seconds for me to realize why I left.
Just look. Scroll down. Keep scrolling. Don't comment. Seriously, do not comment.
What a bunch of crap! Now, I have to comment.
It was an article by some Nooz site (I call it Nooz, because the news is still valid and these sites are anything but), that identified itself by the color of state it represented, which is usually the first hint that whatever is printed is going to be some bullshit. This particular article talked about the good side of Trump's immigration ban; the fact that during the "extreme vetting" an immigrant would be questioned about whether or not they have participated in honor killings, and that thanks to this clause in the immigrant ban, the bad Muslims who harm women, would be kept away from our country.
Of course, I had to take the opportunity to comment about the fact that the countries with the highest rates of honor killings, Female Genital Mutilation, and forced underage marriage were not included in Trump's immigration ban. Also, thanks to this immigration ban, NGOs and nonprofits who are actually on the ground helping women who are victims of this brutality, are now having to go back to the drawing board, in terms of implementing their program, because they aren't able to move their people as easily.
The moment I hit the "enter" key, I knew that I had been sucked down the rabbit hole, but it wasn't for long, because my comment was promptly deleted. A few weeks ago, a friend of mine began purging her Facebook friends, and wiped out all of the Trumpsters. It caused quite a stir amongst our common friends, and, at the time, I wondered if it was the right thing to do. Now I know, I just hadn't gotten there yet.
Fake Nooz enables us to affirm everything we make up in our heads. Obama is a Muslim who took the Oath of Office on a copy of the Koran? Here's the fake Nooz site to confirm for you. Hillary had over 50 people murdered? Must be true if there are two fake Nooz sites and a Reddit feed that says so. Trump orders the firing of all Muslim federal employees. Of course, there's a fake Nooz site that has the story, so it must be true.
I get it. There is nothing more awesome than the feeling of being right, and shoving the fact that you are right in someone else's face. Even the most pious, humble person loves to be right. However, we are in a very precarious time when everyone's need to be right is usurping reality, and that is dangerous. I'm finding it more and more to be commonplace that when an honest news source prints an honest news story, those commenting accuse the news source of being "fake" and that the story is "not believable". There is a rampant belief, instilled by the current administration, that credible news sources cannot be trusted, and this leads to the question, if we cannot trust credible news sources, then who can we trust.
I can get online right now and find over a dozen fake Nooz sites that will tell me exactly what I want to believe, but they are not right, and although it feels good to have my beliefs affirmed, I don't want to live in a world of "yes" men. During my first venture into adulthood, I studied journalism. I took hours of classes learning the history of journalism, studying ethics, pouring over hundreds of pages of legal rulings regarding stories, journalists, and how the news is made and covered. I wrote for my college newspaper, I freelanced for other publications, I discussed real time news stories in a newsroom, I conducted interviews, and I copy edited articles for other writers. I was a trained journalist.
There is a reason why journalism is a profession, and we need to stop this bleeding of the need to have our own theories affirmed through crap Nooz sites, and start doing due diligence. Most of us take pride in the fact that we practice honesty with our friends and family. We don't like lying to the people we love, so why do we share Nooz that we all know, deep down, is fake? It is the same as spreading a lie, and it is causing our society to deteriorate.
When I left Facebook, I immediately subscribed to the New York Times. I took my credit card and paid for a subscription, like back in the olden days when we got our news through papers. The convenience of the online news is great, but the abundance of fake Nooz has become our country's most dangerous addiction, and it's time for us, as a nation, to break this addiction. Sure, dessert is amazing, and we all love to eat it, but if we think we can keep eating nothing but dessert and not get fat, then we are not only delusional, we're just plain stupid.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
From a Skype to a Skittle: We're Going to Be Okay
It's a weird feeling when you look around and wonder what happened to the country you've lived in all your life. From the time we hit grade school in this country, we are told that we are a nation of immigrants, and that this is a source of pride for us. We are told amazing tales about people traveling from all over the world on steamer ships and the joy they shared looking up at Lady Liberty welcoming them to a new land.
We have put ourselves out to the world as a place of opportunity, a place of safety, a place where someone can find peace, raise a family, start a business, and become part of the bigger dream of living in a place molded together from all cultures of the world.
I remember looking around my classroom when I was in the first grade, and thinking that I was so lucky, because everyone looked different. Everyone had different things they did in their homes, everyone had different food, everyone was originally from somewhere else, and we all looked different and it was a good thing.
The most recent actions of this ridiculous president have ripped at the heart of most Americans. Those of us who celebrate the fact that our parents, grandparents, great grandparents, or maybe, even, we are from somewhere else, yet we chose this country to make our life and livelihood felt a sickness in the pit of our stomachs when we heard about the banning of people from other countries. This ignorant president, not only, shut the door on several nations to appease his nationalist supporters, continued to stoke fears of the "terrorist Muslim", but also was so very callous in cutting off opportunity to people experiencing one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world right now.
During our summer vacation, we saw Syrian women and children all over the streets and in the train stations in Paris. We saw their pain and desperation, and my heart ached for every last one of them. These are proud women forced by a ruthless war to beg and live on the streets, often with their children right beside them. I explained it to my girls that a life on the streets was better than no life at all, and that these people were what desperation looks like. These are the people that our country used to take in and give a new life and opportunity to, but our new president has ended that.
The most disgusting thing about this action was that he did it on Holocaust Remembrance Day. There were ships full of refugee Jews that were turned away, decades ago. They were sent back and most of those Jews perished in the death camps. To make such an action on this day when we remember a time when the world went mad is unforgivable. Then again, with the president's Alt-Right capo writing the nationalist order, it doesn't surprise me.
What did surprise me was the incredible reaction. I was very impressed and my heart filled with joy when I saw nearly 3 million women and men protesting the day after the inauguration. I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn't be a one-off thing. The growing protests at airports and all over the nation show me that this country, and this generation are finally woke. I know I stand on a soapbox often, and for the past dozen years, I've felt like I've been yelling into the wind. I thought this younger generation was apathetic and took all of the things that us Gen-Xers fought for for granted. I would get so enraged, and ask my husband where were they? Where were the next generation that was supposed to take the baton? Change.org petitions, social media boycotts, and bitching about issues online are all well and good, but the only thing that changes the world are feet to the street, and I wondered if this generation had it in them.
Now I see they are finally woke. They aren't able, nor willing, to fulfill some mythical 1950s fantasy where white men are at the top of the food chain and everyone else has to grovel in 2nd place for the scraps kicked down from the Master's table. When Kim Kardashian is woke enough to tweet against it, you know that the next generation is not going to sit by and let some old white guy dictate a future that they don't even recognize.
He may have the office, he may have a bunch of pussies in Congress and Senate who are walking lockstep with him, because they love power more than the foundations this country was built on, and he may have the vicious Alt-Right (i.e. Neo-Nazi) movement, but we have a whole country of people. People who came from immigrants, have green card holders or naturalized citizens in their families, or are new to America or new Americans, and we aren't going to let our friends and loved ones go. They can call us Skypes, Googles, Skittles, and Yahoos, but we call ourselves The People, and we are the ones in charge.
We have put ourselves out to the world as a place of opportunity, a place of safety, a place where someone can find peace, raise a family, start a business, and become part of the bigger dream of living in a place molded together from all cultures of the world.
I remember looking around my classroom when I was in the first grade, and thinking that I was so lucky, because everyone looked different. Everyone had different things they did in their homes, everyone had different food, everyone was originally from somewhere else, and we all looked different and it was a good thing.
The most recent actions of this ridiculous president have ripped at the heart of most Americans. Those of us who celebrate the fact that our parents, grandparents, great grandparents, or maybe, even, we are from somewhere else, yet we chose this country to make our life and livelihood felt a sickness in the pit of our stomachs when we heard about the banning of people from other countries. This ignorant president, not only, shut the door on several nations to appease his nationalist supporters, continued to stoke fears of the "terrorist Muslim", but also was so very callous in cutting off opportunity to people experiencing one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world right now.
During our summer vacation, we saw Syrian women and children all over the streets and in the train stations in Paris. We saw their pain and desperation, and my heart ached for every last one of them. These are proud women forced by a ruthless war to beg and live on the streets, often with their children right beside them. I explained it to my girls that a life on the streets was better than no life at all, and that these people were what desperation looks like. These are the people that our country used to take in and give a new life and opportunity to, but our new president has ended that.
The most disgusting thing about this action was that he did it on Holocaust Remembrance Day. There were ships full of refugee Jews that were turned away, decades ago. They were sent back and most of those Jews perished in the death camps. To make such an action on this day when we remember a time when the world went mad is unforgivable. Then again, with the president's Alt-Right capo writing the nationalist order, it doesn't surprise me.
What did surprise me was the incredible reaction. I was very impressed and my heart filled with joy when I saw nearly 3 million women and men protesting the day after the inauguration. I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn't be a one-off thing. The growing protests at airports and all over the nation show me that this country, and this generation are finally woke. I know I stand on a soapbox often, and for the past dozen years, I've felt like I've been yelling into the wind. I thought this younger generation was apathetic and took all of the things that us Gen-Xers fought for for granted. I would get so enraged, and ask my husband where were they? Where were the next generation that was supposed to take the baton? Change.org petitions, social media boycotts, and bitching about issues online are all well and good, but the only thing that changes the world are feet to the street, and I wondered if this generation had it in them.
Now I see they are finally woke. They aren't able, nor willing, to fulfill some mythical 1950s fantasy where white men are at the top of the food chain and everyone else has to grovel in 2nd place for the scraps kicked down from the Master's table. When Kim Kardashian is woke enough to tweet against it, you know that the next generation is not going to sit by and let some old white guy dictate a future that they don't even recognize.
He may have the office, he may have a bunch of pussies in Congress and Senate who are walking lockstep with him, because they love power more than the foundations this country was built on, and he may have the vicious Alt-Right (i.e. Neo-Nazi) movement, but we have a whole country of people. People who came from immigrants, have green card holders or naturalized citizens in their families, or are new to America or new Americans, and we aren't going to let our friends and loved ones go. They can call us Skypes, Googles, Skittles, and Yahoos, but we call ourselves The People, and we are the ones in charge.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
The Lady in the Harbor is Crying
For over 100 years she has sat and watched as newcomers entered this fine land, but today the lady in the Harbor is crying. She is crying, because, like so many women, she has been hurt by a callous man. This man has questioned her very purpose. He has told her that the words she carries around don't matter. He has used her image to reach his goal, but now that he has his win, he is tarnishing her.
The lady in the Harbor is crying, because she's seen this before. A time when others were turned away, sent back to a land that murdered them. Her arms were forced closed by another man who misused her, and innocents died for it.
The lady in the Harbor is crying, because she is watching the land that she has symbolized, whose very essence she embodies, become something she does not recognize. There has been division before, and suffering ensued. There have been those opportunists who wanted to bring about the division of a nation to serve their selfish purpose, and it nearly destroyed her fair land. Now, it is happening again.
The lady in the Harbor is crying, but this time, they may be tears of joy, because this time there are millions marching, millions resisting, millions of true patriots screaming "Not this time! Not in this country! Not in our country!".
The lady in the Harbor is crying, and now it is our time to stand up, wipe her tears, become the embodiment of her dream by living her words:
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Friday, January 27, 2017
When Did That Happen?: The Aging Trip
When I was in my 20s, I made the mistake of saying a lot of "I'd never"s.
"I'd never get plastic surgery. Why alter your face or body?"
"I'd never retire. I love what I do and I want to work until I die."
"I'd never hesitate before stating my age. Age is just a number."
"I'd never skip the opportunity to go to a fun event or party."
Oh, the sea of "I'd never"s coming from the mouth of the 20-something. Age has a funny way of catching up to you, and lately it has not only caught up to me, it has snared me in a net, and hung me 40 feet in the air before getting ready to drop me down a dark hatch.
The once vibrant girl who couldn't wait to dive into a crowd now does research on events of interest to find out how many people are going to be there. If there might be huge crowds, and difficulty parking, then, screw it, I'll watch it on tv. It's the Chinese New Year this weekend, and for about 30 seconds, I thought it might be fun to venture to Los Angeles and head to Chinatown to celebrate the incoming Year of the Rooster. Then I did my research.
A usual crowd is 110,000.
Tomorrow's temperature in Los Angeles is supposed to be 65 degrees (which is fantastic for everyone from anywhere else in the U.S. except Southern California).
Parking. Parking in Los Angeles. Parking in Los Angeles with at least 30,000-40,000 other cars.
Screw it! I'll watch it on tv and get Chinese takeout tomorrow night for dinner.
When did I become such an old fogey?!? I'm still an active person, and barring the average cold, usually given to me by one of my kids, I try to work out three to four days per week. I like to take walks, go out with friends and family, and head to concerts when someone rolls into town that I want to see. I guess I've just become more selective about where I go, when I go, and what I'm expecting when I get there. If I'm going to have to deal with a huge amount of crap and aggravation, then it becomes a waste of my time. Old fogey thinking.
Activities aren't the only kick in the ass that aging has been giving me lately. I'm now far more obsessed with my appearance. I've never been a vain person, but I've had the good fortune of decent looks no matter my age or weight at any given time. I'm no incredible gorgeous beauty, but I'm good with that. Incredible beauty comes with its own set of challenges. I would say I'm decent in the looks department and have been very content with my face. However, lately, I can't stop noticing that my face appears to be moving South at more of a rapid rate than ever before. Next month I'm going to be 44, which means I am officially in my mid-40s, and I'm 6 years away from 50.
I've always had this crazy belief that I'll live to 92. I have no idea why, but 92 has always stuck out in my mind, which means I'm 2 years away from the halfway mark. The physical manifestation of coming close to the halfway mark is my Southern-moving face, and for those who have not experienced it, let me tell you, it fucks with your head. Suddenly, you understand why people spend tens of thousands of dollars on plastic surgery. Every wrinkle, every sag, the bags under your eyes all remind you that the inevitable will come, and because G-d has a sick sense of humor, this usually coincides with the dying off of your older generation of relatives.
All of the sudden, life just punches you in the face and everything gets more real. You are not a kid anymore. The world is still full of opportunity, but not all opportunities, because you are middle aged now. You can alter your appearance, buy overpriced skin cream sold to you by 20-somethings with lab coats and empty promises, try to pretend to be into your teenager's music (much to their horror), but you're still middle aged. Watching the texture of your skin change is extremely humbling.
And don't get me started on the drooping energy level. In my 20s, I could party until 3:00 am, be back up at 8:00 am, and in the office at 9:00 am-ish, work a full day, grab a 30-minute nap after dinner then go out again. Now, if I have to stay up past 9:00 pm to go to an event or a show, I'm going to need a 45-minute nap at around 3:00 pm, and a Venti dark roast just to make sure I'm most conscious.
Two years ago, I took a job at a nonprofit that was under consideration for a temp to permanent position. It didn't work out, but while on that job I met a woman who was in her mid-50s. She was looking to change departments, and when I asked her why, she told me that she had maybe about two more years of doing events before she just didn't have the energy anymore. This was the first time in my life that it really hit me that there would come a time in my life where I just wouldn't have the energy to do events anymore. My recuperation time post-event has been getting longer and longer as the years have passed. This year, during my biggest event of the year, after a full day of doing much of the work solo, I was in a tremendous amount of pain for a couple of days, and ended up in the doctor's office, because I had pulled several muscles in my back. Again, aging punches you in the face when you least expect it.
As a backup plan, I have registered for a grant writing certification class. Thanks to modern technology all research and grant applications can be done online from anywhere in the world where a good Wifi exists. I now see a day when I retire from events, travel the world, and spend morning hours composing grants while wearing breezy kaftans.
I guess the good part about aging is that you do become wiser, get more choosy about how you spend your time and who you spend it with. You have zero fucks left to give when it comes to drama or dealing with people. Sure, the older you get the worse your sight and hearing becomes, but at least you don't have to worry about forgetting your earplugs when you go to concerts.
"I'd never get plastic surgery. Why alter your face or body?"
"I'd never retire. I love what I do and I want to work until I die."
"I'd never hesitate before stating my age. Age is just a number."
"I'd never skip the opportunity to go to a fun event or party."
Oh, the sea of "I'd never"s coming from the mouth of the 20-something. Age has a funny way of catching up to you, and lately it has not only caught up to me, it has snared me in a net, and hung me 40 feet in the air before getting ready to drop me down a dark hatch.
The once vibrant girl who couldn't wait to dive into a crowd now does research on events of interest to find out how many people are going to be there. If there might be huge crowds, and difficulty parking, then, screw it, I'll watch it on tv. It's the Chinese New Year this weekend, and for about 30 seconds, I thought it might be fun to venture to Los Angeles and head to Chinatown to celebrate the incoming Year of the Rooster. Then I did my research.
A usual crowd is 110,000.
Tomorrow's temperature in Los Angeles is supposed to be 65 degrees (which is fantastic for everyone from anywhere else in the U.S. except Southern California).
Parking. Parking in Los Angeles. Parking in Los Angeles with at least 30,000-40,000 other cars.
Screw it! I'll watch it on tv and get Chinese takeout tomorrow night for dinner.
When did I become such an old fogey?!? I'm still an active person, and barring the average cold, usually given to me by one of my kids, I try to work out three to four days per week. I like to take walks, go out with friends and family, and head to concerts when someone rolls into town that I want to see. I guess I've just become more selective about where I go, when I go, and what I'm expecting when I get there. If I'm going to have to deal with a huge amount of crap and aggravation, then it becomes a waste of my time. Old fogey thinking.
Activities aren't the only kick in the ass that aging has been giving me lately. I'm now far more obsessed with my appearance. I've never been a vain person, but I've had the good fortune of decent looks no matter my age or weight at any given time. I'm no incredible gorgeous beauty, but I'm good with that. Incredible beauty comes with its own set of challenges. I would say I'm decent in the looks department and have been very content with my face. However, lately, I can't stop noticing that my face appears to be moving South at more of a rapid rate than ever before. Next month I'm going to be 44, which means I am officially in my mid-40s, and I'm 6 years away from 50.
I've always had this crazy belief that I'll live to 92. I have no idea why, but 92 has always stuck out in my mind, which means I'm 2 years away from the halfway mark. The physical manifestation of coming close to the halfway mark is my Southern-moving face, and for those who have not experienced it, let me tell you, it fucks with your head. Suddenly, you understand why people spend tens of thousands of dollars on plastic surgery. Every wrinkle, every sag, the bags under your eyes all remind you that the inevitable will come, and because G-d has a sick sense of humor, this usually coincides with the dying off of your older generation of relatives.
All of the sudden, life just punches you in the face and everything gets more real. You are not a kid anymore. The world is still full of opportunity, but not all opportunities, because you are middle aged now. You can alter your appearance, buy overpriced skin cream sold to you by 20-somethings with lab coats and empty promises, try to pretend to be into your teenager's music (much to their horror), but you're still middle aged. Watching the texture of your skin change is extremely humbling.
And don't get me started on the drooping energy level. In my 20s, I could party until 3:00 am, be back up at 8:00 am, and in the office at 9:00 am-ish, work a full day, grab a 30-minute nap after dinner then go out again. Now, if I have to stay up past 9:00 pm to go to an event or a show, I'm going to need a 45-minute nap at around 3:00 pm, and a Venti dark roast just to make sure I'm most conscious.
Two years ago, I took a job at a nonprofit that was under consideration for a temp to permanent position. It didn't work out, but while on that job I met a woman who was in her mid-50s. She was looking to change departments, and when I asked her why, she told me that she had maybe about two more years of doing events before she just didn't have the energy anymore. This was the first time in my life that it really hit me that there would come a time in my life where I just wouldn't have the energy to do events anymore. My recuperation time post-event has been getting longer and longer as the years have passed. This year, during my biggest event of the year, after a full day of doing much of the work solo, I was in a tremendous amount of pain for a couple of days, and ended up in the doctor's office, because I had pulled several muscles in my back. Again, aging punches you in the face when you least expect it.
As a backup plan, I have registered for a grant writing certification class. Thanks to modern technology all research and grant applications can be done online from anywhere in the world where a good Wifi exists. I now see a day when I retire from events, travel the world, and spend morning hours composing grants while wearing breezy kaftans.
I guess the good part about aging is that you do become wiser, get more choosy about how you spend your time and who you spend it with. You have zero fucks left to give when it comes to drama or dealing with people. Sure, the older you get the worse your sight and hearing becomes, but at least you don't have to worry about forgetting your earplugs when you go to concerts.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Breaking the Facebook Addiction
It's been exactly 38 hours since I gave up Facebook, and I'm trying to remember how I lived my life before that fateful day, years ago, before I created my account.
I've never been addicted to drugs, although I've been offered every drug on the streets pre-meth. I've never had a drinking problem. All of the recreational alcohol use in my late teens through 20s were clear and conscious choices, which given the horrifying state of being I ended up in with some of those benders, I'm reluctant to admit this. Cigarettes were a passing fad that were supposed to suppress appetite, but never did. I like shoes and handbags, but remain too thrifty for full retail. This means the addiction had to manifest itself in some form, and that form was reconnecting with old friends through the miracle of modern technology known as Facebook.
It was so neat at first. Having moved around so much since high school, I was able to get back in touch with wonderful people that I never meant to fall out of touch with. It was a joy to see their children, get updates on their parents, and hear about how their lives had been going. I was a willing Facebook participant posting pictures of my family, sharing funny memes and great recipe demonstrations, and expressing my age old concerns for feminist issues and the environment. I created a page for my business and another for my interest in advocating for organic foods.
As a mostly stay-at-home mom, Facebook became my social outlet. My husband used to ask me why I didn't just call my friends. Good question, why didn't I, a mother with a very fussy and active toddler who demanded 1000% of my attention, call my other mom friends who were trying to drive the carpool, help finish homework, run to the store for supplies for a surprise project their kid just told them about. Hmmm...good question. By the time all was said and done at the end of the day, I would have been calling my fellow moms at around 10:30 pm at night, and given that half the moms I would want to talk to were in the time zone an hour ahead that puts us at nearly midnight. Again, hmmm...good question.
So Facebook it was. My mornings consisted of getting my older child and husband out the door, taking care of the baby, checking my work email, making any necessary phone calls, and logging onto Facebook while finishing my coffee. In the mid-morning I would run errands, get the baby down for a nap, take care of work things, and do a quick logon to Facebook before leaving to get my older daughter. I would get home, get my older daughter a snack, start her on her homework, do a little bit of work while the baby was preoccupied on her play mat or in her bouncer, and logon for a bit right before having to fix dinner. After dinner, and baths and reading stories and putting the kids to bed, it was back to Facebook for the evening, while watching tv until bed.
I downloaded the app, checked it often, and failed to admit for the past several years that Facebook had become an addiction. I never saw the harm in it at all, and had heard horror stories of people who became depressed, because they would read about their friends' lives and how great they were, then these poor souls would see their own lives as lacking. I heard of Facebook ruining marriages when two old flames connected and decided to leave their spouses to rekindle their lost love. None of this applied to me.
My relationship with Facebook changed about six months ago when the presidential election narrowed down to three candidates; Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders. I didn't take Trump seriously, was lukewarm about Clinton, and really liked Sanders. Nearly every liberal leaning person I knew, especially on Facebook, supported Bernie Sanders, yet we know now there were dirty tricks in place to make Clinton inevitable. I was fine, though not thrilled, to support her, because Trump was using racism, xenophobia, sexism, fascism, and every other horrifying -ism to bring out the worst in people and win the election.
Friends and family members who I had known for the better part of my life began posting pro-Trump stories, and for awhile, I just blew it off. However, as the election got closer, my Facebook world became a lot darker. I didn't understand how people I knew most of my life to be good and honest people, and who claimed to be stellar followers of Jesus Christ, could support such a vile man. A man who is, himself, an adulterer, cheats in his business, is the epitome of vanity and ego, and has pretty much violated nearly all of the 10 Christian Commandments. Here was a man whose campaign was run on pure hatred, yet friends who would be the first to say they were good people, jumped on that Trump Train. Friends who I know can barely make ends meet were rooting for the guy who is going to make their financial situation worse, and when this was pointed out, used willful ignorance and fake or hugely partisan "news" to rebut.
Even the Facebook sites I watched regularly were constantly filled with stories of impending doom at the daily nightmarish actions taken by this ignorant man who had just become president of our divided country. Daily doom, plus gloating by those with too much willful ignorance and hypocrisy, sealed my Facebook addiction's demise. I had hit rock bottom, and one night, after commenting on a story about the fact that the new vice president doesn't believe smoking causes cancer, I quit Facebook cold turkey.
To be honest, I miss it. I hadn't realized how much of my day was spent on Facebook, and how much I had relied on social media for social interaction or for my news. I subscribed to the New York Times, because I felt like doing this small action would start to remedy the damage. I opened my very neglected "Writing" folder on my laptop and perused some of the stories I meant to finish, and I'm now back to my, nearly abandoned, blog, which I used to take so much pride in.
I cannot promise that I won't ever log into Facebook again, but for now, I'm having a contest with myself to see how long I can go before dipping my toe back in that water. I'm almost at two days, tomorrow is Friday. I'm usually busy on the weekends, so let's see if I can make it until Monday. After that, maybe a solid week. Is there a support group for Facebook addicts? If so, I hope they don't meet via Twitter.
I've never been addicted to drugs, although I've been offered every drug on the streets pre-meth. I've never had a drinking problem. All of the recreational alcohol use in my late teens through 20s were clear and conscious choices, which given the horrifying state of being I ended up in with some of those benders, I'm reluctant to admit this. Cigarettes were a passing fad that were supposed to suppress appetite, but never did. I like shoes and handbags, but remain too thrifty for full retail. This means the addiction had to manifest itself in some form, and that form was reconnecting with old friends through the miracle of modern technology known as Facebook.
It was so neat at first. Having moved around so much since high school, I was able to get back in touch with wonderful people that I never meant to fall out of touch with. It was a joy to see their children, get updates on their parents, and hear about how their lives had been going. I was a willing Facebook participant posting pictures of my family, sharing funny memes and great recipe demonstrations, and expressing my age old concerns for feminist issues and the environment. I created a page for my business and another for my interest in advocating for organic foods.
As a mostly stay-at-home mom, Facebook became my social outlet. My husband used to ask me why I didn't just call my friends. Good question, why didn't I, a mother with a very fussy and active toddler who demanded 1000% of my attention, call my other mom friends who were trying to drive the carpool, help finish homework, run to the store for supplies for a surprise project their kid just told them about. Hmmm...good question. By the time all was said and done at the end of the day, I would have been calling my fellow moms at around 10:30 pm at night, and given that half the moms I would want to talk to were in the time zone an hour ahead that puts us at nearly midnight. Again, hmmm...good question.
So Facebook it was. My mornings consisted of getting my older child and husband out the door, taking care of the baby, checking my work email, making any necessary phone calls, and logging onto Facebook while finishing my coffee. In the mid-morning I would run errands, get the baby down for a nap, take care of work things, and do a quick logon to Facebook before leaving to get my older daughter. I would get home, get my older daughter a snack, start her on her homework, do a little bit of work while the baby was preoccupied on her play mat or in her bouncer, and logon for a bit right before having to fix dinner. After dinner, and baths and reading stories and putting the kids to bed, it was back to Facebook for the evening, while watching tv until bed.
I downloaded the app, checked it often, and failed to admit for the past several years that Facebook had become an addiction. I never saw the harm in it at all, and had heard horror stories of people who became depressed, because they would read about their friends' lives and how great they were, then these poor souls would see their own lives as lacking. I heard of Facebook ruining marriages when two old flames connected and decided to leave their spouses to rekindle their lost love. None of this applied to me.
My relationship with Facebook changed about six months ago when the presidential election narrowed down to three candidates; Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders. I didn't take Trump seriously, was lukewarm about Clinton, and really liked Sanders. Nearly every liberal leaning person I knew, especially on Facebook, supported Bernie Sanders, yet we know now there were dirty tricks in place to make Clinton inevitable. I was fine, though not thrilled, to support her, because Trump was using racism, xenophobia, sexism, fascism, and every other horrifying -ism to bring out the worst in people and win the election.
Friends and family members who I had known for the better part of my life began posting pro-Trump stories, and for awhile, I just blew it off. However, as the election got closer, my Facebook world became a lot darker. I didn't understand how people I knew most of my life to be good and honest people, and who claimed to be stellar followers of Jesus Christ, could support such a vile man. A man who is, himself, an adulterer, cheats in his business, is the epitome of vanity and ego, and has pretty much violated nearly all of the 10 Christian Commandments. Here was a man whose campaign was run on pure hatred, yet friends who would be the first to say they were good people, jumped on that Trump Train. Friends who I know can barely make ends meet were rooting for the guy who is going to make their financial situation worse, and when this was pointed out, used willful ignorance and fake or hugely partisan "news" to rebut.
Even the Facebook sites I watched regularly were constantly filled with stories of impending doom at the daily nightmarish actions taken by this ignorant man who had just become president of our divided country. Daily doom, plus gloating by those with too much willful ignorance and hypocrisy, sealed my Facebook addiction's demise. I had hit rock bottom, and one night, after commenting on a story about the fact that the new vice president doesn't believe smoking causes cancer, I quit Facebook cold turkey.
To be honest, I miss it. I hadn't realized how much of my day was spent on Facebook, and how much I had relied on social media for social interaction or for my news. I subscribed to the New York Times, because I felt like doing this small action would start to remedy the damage. I opened my very neglected "Writing" folder on my laptop and perused some of the stories I meant to finish, and I'm now back to my, nearly abandoned, blog, which I used to take so much pride in.
I cannot promise that I won't ever log into Facebook again, but for now, I'm having a contest with myself to see how long I can go before dipping my toe back in that water. I'm almost at two days, tomorrow is Friday. I'm usually busy on the weekends, so let's see if I can make it until Monday. After that, maybe a solid week. Is there a support group for Facebook addicts? If so, I hope they don't meet via Twitter.
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