Skip to main content

How Social Media Stole My Voice

With tears in my eyes, I just closed the browser I had open to Facebook after looking at a few pictures and memes and reading a debate about transgender bathrooms and the formerly shamed dancing man. It just seems to me that social media has turned into a giant playground in cyberspace populated by meanness.

I'm so tired about reading comments detailing how poor spelling and very common grammar mistakes completely negate an argument. I'm over the name calling and poor judgment and shaming that makes up the posts people share and laugh about. I'm just so disgusted with the people who think it's okay to make fun of others and the mean-spirited things people say and get offended by.

I read these comments and write a thousand responses in my head that never make it to the screen. I've tried my hand at it and been bashed and shamed in the process, even by people who were actually on the same side as me because I didn't use the "right" terminology. I decided right then and there that it wasn't worth the effort. It's not worth the energy to try to point out a flaw in the logic or encourage people that it's okay to live in a world where not everyone agrees on the finer points in life.

I have friends who have consciously decided to post only about rainbows and puppies. They share beautiful photos filled with laughter and a few witty comments. I enjoy seeing these, but I also know that these posts just highlight the mean-spiritedness bobbing just beneath the surface of the online world. They also exacerbate what I believe is a major problem in this world--the refusal to accept that life is messy.

My grandfather once told my mother that life is a series of ups and downs and that no one should expect to spend every moment at the top of a rollercoaster. She struggled with plenty of feelings of inadequacy and always had a sense that she never quite fit in with the rest of the world. I used to spend a lot of time telling her that we all feel that way from time to time, but that most people refuse to admit it, thus perpetuating an individual belief that everyone else has it figured out.

Sadly, I often don't feel like it's okay to share my moments of frailty or give others a glimpse into my not so perfect world. I've accepted these imperfectly beautiful corners of my mind and heart and kitchen counters. I don't need to--nor do I want to--live a life worthy of a magazine cover shoot. The mess means I'm spending time doing what I love or learning a new lesson or immersing myself in the dangerous emotions that come with real living.

I still have my opinions, but they stay locked away in my head or in the dog-eared pages of my journal. And here. While I appreciate the outlets, this censorship isolates me. It isolates you. As a result, we spend most of our time honoring dead celebrities who never really made up any substantial fabric of our existence. We communicate through likes. We're creating a culture of fear because we can't concentrate on living the moments in front of us and enjoying the people in our presence.

What's happened to us? I thought that the shrinking corners of the globe would actually bring us together, but I'm starting to think we're embracing a civil war of humanity. So, I'm going to step away right now and retreat back to my world of dogs and late spring breezes and the laundry I've been putting off all day.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Tough As Nails

I found "The Chub" last night. This is a small, thick spiral notebook that I had carried around with me for several weeks last winter and spring. Its sole purpose was to be an immediate reservoir for any brilliant ideas I had during the day. The only thing I ever wrote in there (besides grocery lists and bill schedules) was during my family's reunion-birthday-anniversary cruise last January. My words were interesting, and I clearly remembered writing them on the little boat that took my aunt, sister, and cousin to go snorkeling in the Bahamas. The funny part was that I wrote about how the breeze was making the weariness "seep from my bones". I read it yesterday while I was home from work. That is, after I was sent home for nearly fainting during a class. Apparently, the look of my skin was so bad that my students thought I was pulling a Halloween prank. While driving myself home, I was thinking about the recent events that led me to the afternoon and how embarra

El Capitan de Barco (Poem)

I remember the days when poetry used to ooze from my veins. I could think of whatever moment I wanted to capture and turn it into lines of metaphors and alliteration. What happened? I think it has something to do with way too much going on at work and the fact that Spanish seems to be overtaking my brain these days. (Seriously, I'm answering people in Spanish.) My art group met tonight, and I shared what random lines and ideas I had. I felt so vulnerable there, offering my meager contributions to the group. Fortunately, I was in the company of artists who were so accepting and encouraging, and I needed that camaraderie. I think I also needed half a bottle of Australian cab and a few tostones. Although I'm sure this poem is nowhere near finished, and I will tweak it some more between tonight and our meeting at the BEACH tomorrow evening for some sunset filming, I will share here what I have. The first voice is the boat captain (el capitan de barco). The second is a woman. He gav

The Magical 25

Is it just me, or does life seem to seep out in pieces? Even when we seem to be blindsided by news or events, they still often crept up on us in a slow, steady pattern. (The surprise, I think, is usually the result of our own blissful ignorance.) It's a bit surprising to me what can happen when you have way too much spare time and take up a running habit. Perhaps none of you are as surprised as I was this week when it finally dawned on me that I am finally near the end of a fourteen-year weight loss journey. Twenty-five pounds to go. 25 pounds. Fifty-three pounds ago, this moment seemed so far away. I used to resent seeing articles in magazines talking about the last 25 or 10 pounds. I could never seem to get there, no matter how many carbs I cut or hours I spent on the elliptical. This time, without even realizing how my body has been changing and eating a steady diet of convenience food (Boca Burgers are the most amazing product ever created!), the pounds have seemed to almost ru