Facebook: A Turbulent Romance in Four Acts
Forget whatever cherubic newlyweds say in comic strips. Love is … www.facebook.com.
Or should I say, was.
Allow me to begin at the beginning, on that fateful day not so long ago that a friend gave me the address for a place she called a "social networking" site. It sounded like a cavernous Internet beehive, but I checked it out because I didn't want to be any further behind the times. (I already felt fossil-like for thinking Hannah Montana might be set in Billings.) So, despite my penchant for face-to-face talk and fears that we all weren't getting enough of it, I created a Facebook profile.
This might have been a mistake.
One hit and bam! I was off to the races. That first week my brain's frenzied production of oxytocin and dopamine would have lit up an MRI like a neurological Christmas tree. I was so enthralled that I probably resembled a rat frantically pulling levers to release and devour food pellets—never mind the electrical shocks from the scientists! Catching up with friends was way too much fun to stop. Especially since some of them were spread out over five continents and I couldn't "see" them any other way.
This was how I began my tawdry love affair with Facebook.
And now that it's over, I feel I must retrace its episodes to try to unearth a little wisdom from the experience. And since Facebook is random, disjointed and stream of consciousness-like, I'll let the medium shape the message—because it does anyway, whether we realize it or not.
Act 1: The Honeymoon
"You mean I can actually follow what my friends are doing and thinking every second of every day?! Anywhere in the world?! Look at people's status updates! Who knew Patrick listens to ZZ Top while ironing trousers in London! I didn't realize Betsy knits—and the pictures of her kids in scarves and mittens are so cute! It's funny to be in touch with the high school quarterback again, even if he is still a colossal jerk. Weird that Heather is eating pickles for dinner. Greg tonight speaking like Yoda is and stop he says he cannot. Candice is marveling as her husband struggles to put jeans on over his tennis shoes, but she assures us that it wasn't an arranged marriage. Ooh. Kyle's girlfriend just broke up with him. Wow. I know all these folks better because they've given me so much intimate information about themselves! Even if I've only met them once! Fun! Hooray for online community!"
Act 2: Deliberation and Disillusionment
"Hmmm. I've been sitting here for hours chatting with friends online. Is that new cellulite on my thigh since Thursday? Can I still walk? Wasn't I supposed to be doing something else, like going to the gym or calling a friend? Is the sun still shining? (I'm not even sure.) Do I really care that Leon became a fan of hot dogs and the United States? I mean, he was born in Duluth so it's not like he's Peruvian. So what if Nancy loves potato salad, cats and her boyfriend in that order? (Does it mean she needs counseling?) And the video Earl posted of his iguana wearing a baby doll outfit? Yeah, I could have gone a whole lifetime without seeing that. Did I really need to take the 'Which garden gnome are you' quiz? Because I'm not happy with my results. Kevin is kinda lame so I'll click to get less information about him. (But, ouch, what if he's done that to me, too?) Oh my goodness, Stacy is still online at 2 a.m. (but wait, so am I). My attention span has vanish—hey, look, there's a dancing hamster application! COOL!"
Act 3: Blatantly Hostile Cynicism
"OK, people, I'm reading your status updates, but what are you actually doing here? You're saying everything and nothing to no one and everyone! Can anyone even have 527 'friends'?! Are we rewriting the definition of friendship because of Facebook? And why does this site number people's friends unless it wants to make friendship a competition? Why are my thoughts starting to churn out in be-witty-as-possible status-update form? Must. Stop. Typing. Dan lives in town, but when was the last time I looked him in the eye instead of Facebooking him? (Is Facebook already a verb only five years after it became a website?) I think I'm getting carpal tunnel syndrome. There's something wrong with all of this, but I can't quite grasp what—maybe because I've stared at a laptop for more than a day. But if I log out, I'll miss what everyone's invited to or talking about tomorrow. So is this real community or mere connectivity? Are we destroying civilization as we know it? Ack!! But wait! A LOLcat link! Awesome."
Act 4: Mature Relationship
"STOP. Breathe. I'm going to drop the laptop and step away from social networking sites for a while. I'm going to leave my status blank while I reassess the outside world. Friend requests and group invitations can wait. I'm going to sort out the Facebook pros and cons for myself. And figure out how to use it for good and not as a massive time suck. I'm going to use it. I'm not going to let it use me."
Denouement
Into all romances a little rain must fall. Like most relationships do, my connection to Facebook has evolved. We're still friends despite a rocky past, but the driving oomph is gone. I dunno. I just got to the point where I didn't care if my friend Darcy suddenly remembered that she loves sauerkraut and put it on her soy burger. I started to long for something more productive—like volunteering, talking face-to-face, writing or reading a book. I also felt guilty on the Ephesians 4:29 front: Were my witty, often snarky one-liners edifying and useful?
I'm not a Luddite or bona fide wet blanket, but there's a serious question we need to ask ourselves: In 10 years, what kind of people will we be because of Facebook? Not to mention Twitter and all the other sites yet to be created? Since the medium shapes our message, it also shapes who we are on some level. What kinds of thoughts will we have as a result?
Susan Greenfield, a professor of synaptic pharmacology at Oxford University, has done convincing research suggesting that if Facebooking and Twittering continues unabated we'll be babbling idiots living in the moment and reacting instead of responding to life. Among other cautions, she says, "I often wonder whether real conversation in real time may eventually give way to these sanitized and easier screen dialogues, in much the same way as killing, skinning and butchering an animal to eat has been replaced by the convenience of packages of meat on the supermarket shelf. ... It is hard to see how living this way on a daily basis will not result in brains, or rather minds, different from those of previous generations."
That means we all have to consider how, why and when we access social networking. If some of us—especially children—haven't yet mastered the fine art of face-to-face friendships, then devoting ourselves to a laptop probably isn't the wisest route.
Still, even after all the personal turbulence, I'm not anti-Facebook. Used in moderation, it's a fun and convenient way to keep up with certain people. But when managing friendships online became something of a part-time job that distracted me from real life, I realized there were better ways to use the Internet.
OK, that sounds pretty stuffy, doesn't it? I can't just end this column by looking down my nose and instructing you to rip every bit of fun out of your Internet habits. So I'll say this: Even though I've found a more meaningful way of interacting with the World Wide Web, I still find time to chuckle over dancing rodents and demented felines. Sometimes that’s pretty good medicine after a day of waltzing around work deadlines, office politics and the national news.