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Why I Traded FaceBook for a Real Life Face Look.

I know, shocking.

How will I get invited to parties, stay in touch with friends, spread my good news, or ask for support when I need it? You already know the answer; I won’t insult your intelligence by making you read it here.

What started out as a fun way to stay in touch with friends slowly moved into an obsession; and I’m not alone. Sure, life gets busy and FB seems like a great way to stay in touch; but if my life is that busy perhaps I need to reevaluate a few things.

Like many of you, I’m self-employed.  When I started to use Facebook as my “coffee break”, my “I’m back from the bathroom break”, and my “I’m so bored with this call I’m on break”, I knew there was significant time being lost in my day.  A quick peek before bed turned into 45 minutes later as FB became the new twilight zone; slowly sucking my life minute by minute into some online cyber world without a pulse.

This morning I realized my dog was sitting next to me staring into my face for well over 20 minutes as I was illuminated by the blue glow of my cyber life.  I fast forwarded to the end of her life and realized at that point, I would give anything to have back that precious time lost to the Facebook zone.

Last week  I completely lost track of my little nephew as I scanned FB while uh-huh’ing his never to be repeated again frog story.  All for what?  A quick update on who’s going to what party?

Therapist’s nationwide report that their private practices have gained new life; no longer are relationship problems their #1 complaints.

Feeling inadequate and reliving the old high school trauma of feeling left out and unloved due to facebook is the new couch conversation. “Why wasn’t I invited?” is the biggest question asked by most patients. Comparing your life to others creeps into even the most stable of psyches.

Some friends I consider close; haven’t laid eyes on me since the holidays~seems reading one another’s updates on FB closes the gap that busy lives have created.  Sure it’s great to be able to check in and have a quick hello through facebook when life becomes too busy to connect; but isn’t this sucking real intimacy into oblivion? Do we really have no time to connect anymore?

Pertinent news used to be delivered personally.  Now engagements, promotions, babies, break ups; even deaths are announced through cyberspace.  I find myself longing for the old fashioned middle of the night tearful call from those close to me announcing their heartfelt news.

Yes FB is an amazing marketing tool.  But I’m betting that if you admit it, like me; you are sick of marketing invites from even your inner circle.  Advertising becomes advertising. Over exposure is ultimately, over exposure.  Random friend requests followed by multiple invites to “events” (for a small charge of course) started to eat at me as much as telemarketer calls.

Even noticing friends give the same intimate “i love you sooo much,” message to 10 other friends after having my heart warmed by their post on my wall seems a bit disingenuous.  Are we real with each other anymore or do we just mass kiss the world so our public personae seems loving?

Has facebook turned us all into public puppets performing for our 850 most intimate friends?

Picture sharing?  Yes, it’s a wonderful way to share; until of course you realize that everyone you share with may share with someone else, and someone else….  I even have to question why I posted certain photos.  Noticing the “like” button on beach photos being hit by friends of friends that I felt obligated to befriend; soon after our true FB friendship was born~made me feel uneasy.

Starting to think in FB status update style caught me off guard, but not as much as my photo taking thoughts.  I began to think in terms of “this would make a great photo for FB”.  GAG~I’m an adult.  I’m not in high school anymore!

So there you have it; I’ve traded Facebook for a real life face look and if you’re a real friend, I look forward to seeing you soon.


Images Courtesy of  (Couch by graur razvan ionut) or my own.

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