It has been about one month since I ceased to exist.
In a typical gen Y move, I deactivated my Facebook account.
I signed up one dull Thursday afternoon in grade 10, on the library computer when we were supposed to be doing something else.
Since then, Zuckerberg has seen my life evolve – holidays, events, new relationships, break-ups, good times, bad times, and cringe-worthy times.
The careful curation of what I wanted people to see of my life, it was all there, for the taking. My very own Gatsby move.
I always scoffed when people would say they were deactivating their account. Why don’t you just stop using it? I didn’t get it.
On a weekday night, somewhere between finishing work and going to bed, I woke up.
I realised I’d been scrolling through my feed for 20 minutes, and hadn’t taken anything in.
What was I even looking at? I couldn’t tell you. All I know is I lost 20 minutes of that night. So I scoffed at myself, and deactivated my account.
It’s been a remarkably boring transition. I was almost expecting to feel like I’d fallen off the side of the earth, or ceased to exist.
I was worried I wouldn’t know what was happening, what events were coming up, or what my friends were doing with themselves.
Quite the opposite. Instead of thinking that reading a status counts as staying in touch, I purposefully reach out to friends and family.
I ask what they’re doing this weekend, how that job interview went, or if they’ve heard from that guy.
When we see each other, we have conversations that are longer than statuses.
I’ve chosen mindfulness over mindless scrolling, and I am slowly getting those 20 minutes back.
- ZONA BLACK