Unintentionally, I stopped writing. Like the earth under layers of snow, I felt weighted down by the auspices of winter and the world at large. The news of the day is unrelenting, painful, infuriating. To make the choice to ignore it, means choosing to exercise privilege – a momentary state that many of us are in – aware, but untouched as of yet. Indulging ourselves with entertainment and distraction, because we know not exactly what to do. We send money or protest out into the world and then turn inward, safe once again, comforted by the knowledge that we did something.
I’ve been feeling a lot of discomfort about that and my forays into social media are coming to an end. There are always those who go on about its usefulness and of staying “in the know” and the value of connection. I suspect that they have great mental filters, that their skin is thick – that they don’t internalize things. They are able to take away more from it than what is taken. It’s funny how physically tough I can be, but will lay awake at night because some rando on the internet insulted me.
When I was a child, I was frequently told I was too sensitive. It took a long time out in the world to build an armor of sarcasm, a facial expression to scare off men, women, children, and pets. I focused on being physically adept and stronger, because that was another kind of toughness. I developed a dark sense of humor, learned to laugh harshly when I was frightened or despairing. But the tender part is necessary to who I am. It is not going away. And it feels battered.
FOMO (fear of missing out) is an easy disease to catch. I love learning – reading about all kinds of things and people. The information age is a heady, addictive time – to have access to anything I’d like to learn. The learning is a shell game though. What one gains in quantity, one loses in quality. The faster and easier information is acquired, the less permanence it has. My brain is cycling shorter and shorter. In essence, I feel less capable of the nuanced thinking that produces meaningful discourse and art. I’m spending far too much time arguing in my head with bytes of pithiness.
I’ve deactivated Twitter, cancelled Amazon Prime, locked down Facebook (I have to maintain it for a volunteer organization I work for), and am returning to the simple life of a writer/blogger/reader. I miss my brain before Twitter and Facebook. I miss being able to sit with stillness. Some people are able to do it all, but I am not one of them. An introvert in the world is an introvert online. There is only so much time and energy. And I want to reclaim mine.
The Ballad of the Unhappy Tweeter
It sits like lead in the belly – the impotence of social media.
Write a thoughtful response. Delete with frustration.
Write an angry response. Delete with embarrassment.
Witness the stupid, the self-important, the self-righteous.
Performative -isms.
Bragging about their gods and guns and wokeness.
Flippant. Send brightly-colored hearts and smiley faces and special punctuation.
Passive-aggressive positivity.
Faux patriotism.
Pledge your fealty to the troops who suck sand for suited men.
Chuckling on the golf course about loopholes.
Copy, paste, copy, paste.
Meme, meme, meme.
Faux intellectualism.
Self-identifying conspiracy theorists, Christian, libertarian, bro, coward, crypto-fan, cultist, racist, misogynist
who want to be inside the bodies they deride or subjugate them to the state.
Fondling their threats of violence in the shape of guns.
1A is for thee, but not for those others.
2A as self-esteem.
Copy, paste, copy, paste.
Meme, meme, meme.
To leave the platform is heresy.
You will be unfollowed.
You will be untethered, unpublished, unimportant.
As you were before the crowd entered your brain.
Deactivate
The room empties.
You plant your feet on terra firma.
Rendered invisible, but able to see once again.
The Green Study 
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