I stood chatting with my cousin as she patted her 7-month-old daughter on the back, trying to calm her to sleep as the rest of the Pinks chatted during the family Christmas party. As my cousin and I spoke about her change in daycare centers and her desire to get back to her daily regimen of walking to work, I was reminded of a decision I had made a few weeks prior.
The decision was to delete my personal Facebook account, and it had been an intermittent thought for more than a year.
My Facebook existence was born in the fall of 2005 when I, a curious first-year student at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, got swept up in the craze that was buzzing in each dorm.
My curiosity turned to interest, which quickly turned into addiction. Facebook happenings - be they new groups or the statuses and pictures of friends - became regular conversation topics in dorms, in classrooms, in dining halls and elsewhere.
For the next six years, Facebook me followed human me and generally reflected my real-life happenings. Pictures I was tagged in documented the places I had been and the people I was spending time with, my profile got updated to reflect my job and residence changes, and my statuses echoed my ever-present moods and opinions.
But even as it evolved - this virtual existence of mine - some former part of me seemed to be calling out from a distance, voicing its displeasure with my virtual presence.
As I typed out a status update, my former self recognized the action as a calculated self-editor composing a polished witticism for the sake of a "like" or a comment, which seemed to have become a commodity. As I untagged myself from a photo or updated a part of my profile, it recognized the questionable ability to mold and frame various pieces into an untrue likeness, and it did not approve.
The voice of my former self, which started as a subconscious murmur, grew louder and louder until three weeks ago, when I sat at my desk, mouse in hand and my cursor hovering over "delete." And with a rush of unwavering certainty, my finger clicked, and Facebook me no longer existed.
In short, I guess I decided I no longer needed it. While its convenience and networking capabilities were unquestioned, after more than half a decade of being immersed in it, I longed for a simpler time when I didn't have immediate access to every bit of selective information about a person.
And as I stood chatting with my cousin (as her wide-eyed, wide-awake addition to the family stared at me), I knew I had made the right decision.
Her informative stories of day care and her daughter's interaction with other children were fresh to my ear, because they reinforced something I believe my former self was trying to articulate way back when: that I can better appreciate such bits of information when received via a warm conversation, rather than from a series of abbreviated profile and status updates.
My previous existence on Facebook wasn't the real me. It was simply a representation (occasionally a misrepresentation) of me: a series of manufactured blurbs that composed a static mural of a digital person whose breathing equivalent was always evolving.
And maybe that's what this whole thing is: me evolving.
I just don't see a need for it anymore. Those close to me know how to contact me on a more intimate basis. I have an email address, I have a website and I have a Facebook page strictly for my writing. There might be a time when I return to Facebook on a more personal basis, but it would have to be out of necessity.
And the more I think about it, that might never be necessary. In fact, it may never have been.
- Jeremy Pink is Page Designer at the Times and can be reached at jpink@themonroetimes.com. Follow his writing online at facebook.com/jeremypink
The decision was to delete my personal Facebook account, and it had been an intermittent thought for more than a year.
My Facebook existence was born in the fall of 2005 when I, a curious first-year student at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, got swept up in the craze that was buzzing in each dorm.
My curiosity turned to interest, which quickly turned into addiction. Facebook happenings - be they new groups or the statuses and pictures of friends - became regular conversation topics in dorms, in classrooms, in dining halls and elsewhere.
For the next six years, Facebook me followed human me and generally reflected my real-life happenings. Pictures I was tagged in documented the places I had been and the people I was spending time with, my profile got updated to reflect my job and residence changes, and my statuses echoed my ever-present moods and opinions.
But even as it evolved - this virtual existence of mine - some former part of me seemed to be calling out from a distance, voicing its displeasure with my virtual presence.
As I typed out a status update, my former self recognized the action as a calculated self-editor composing a polished witticism for the sake of a "like" or a comment, which seemed to have become a commodity. As I untagged myself from a photo or updated a part of my profile, it recognized the questionable ability to mold and frame various pieces into an untrue likeness, and it did not approve.
The voice of my former self, which started as a subconscious murmur, grew louder and louder until three weeks ago, when I sat at my desk, mouse in hand and my cursor hovering over "delete." And with a rush of unwavering certainty, my finger clicked, and Facebook me no longer existed.
In short, I guess I decided I no longer needed it. While its convenience and networking capabilities were unquestioned, after more than half a decade of being immersed in it, I longed for a simpler time when I didn't have immediate access to every bit of selective information about a person.
And as I stood chatting with my cousin (as her wide-eyed, wide-awake addition to the family stared at me), I knew I had made the right decision.
Her informative stories of day care and her daughter's interaction with other children were fresh to my ear, because they reinforced something I believe my former self was trying to articulate way back when: that I can better appreciate such bits of information when received via a warm conversation, rather than from a series of abbreviated profile and status updates.
My previous existence on Facebook wasn't the real me. It was simply a representation (occasionally a misrepresentation) of me: a series of manufactured blurbs that composed a static mural of a digital person whose breathing equivalent was always evolving.
And maybe that's what this whole thing is: me evolving.
I just don't see a need for it anymore. Those close to me know how to contact me on a more intimate basis. I have an email address, I have a website and I have a Facebook page strictly for my writing. There might be a time when I return to Facebook on a more personal basis, but it would have to be out of necessity.
And the more I think about it, that might never be necessary. In fact, it may never have been.
- Jeremy Pink is Page Designer at the Times and can be reached at jpink@themonroetimes.com. Follow his writing online at facebook.com/jeremypink
