I am a typical, run-of-the-mill, modern-day Roman Catholic. I received the sacred rites of Baptism, Holy Communion and Confirmation; attended a Catholic school—complete with nuns, horrific uniforms and saddle shoes—and promptly quit observances upon liberation (a.k.a. graduation) from said school. But I have maintained the practice of Lenten sacrifice and the occasional, heart-felt prayer whispered in times of dire and desperate need. For some reason, making sacrifices during Lent has always struck me as a handy way of atoning for all my other failures as a Catholic and of ridding myself of bad habits. Sort of like a buy one, get one for my soul and body. And I always go big with my sacrifices. Past sacrifices include chocolate, cursing and shopping. This year, I gave up Facebook, along with celebrity gossip sites and coffee.
Most people were surprised when I said I was foregoing coffee for forty days since I might have been solely responsible for Starbucks’ stellar performance the last few years. Sagely, I responded it would be the easiest of the three to do without and Facebook would be the most difficult.
And now, on Easter Sunday, I realize I couldn’t have been more right or more wrong. However, sacrificing Facebook has been the most enlightening.
The first week, I could have used a few coffees but I absolutely and completely craved logging in and checking up on my friends through their status, photo and profile updates. By the beginning of the second week, coffee was a mere afterthought but I was desperate and incredibly melancholy over Facebook’s sudden departure from my life; notice I said Facebook’s absence, not those on my friend lists. I wanted to go on Facebook for the sake of going on Facebook; not for keeping up with my friends’ lives. Facebook itself tempted and taunted me with every key stroke and mouse click I made. “Don’t you want to see me?” it pled. “Nobody else ever needs to find out. It will be our little secret,” it purred; more enticing than a lover’s whisper or ice cream cake with extra crunchies.
Halfway through Lent, I desired coffee with a wild abandon but Facebook…I wanted to see what was going on but it wasn’t need or even a craving. I actually started thinking about what Facebook has meant to me these past few years and why it left such a hole. After all, it is just another networking website. If that’s all I wanted, MySpace and LinkedIn were still available to me. And I could always join Twitter.
Most people were surprised when I said I was foregoing coffee for forty days since I might have been solely responsible for Starbucks’ stellar performance the last few years. Sagely, I responded it would be the easiest of the three to do without and Facebook would be the most difficult.
And now, on Easter Sunday, I realize I couldn’t have been more right or more wrong. However, sacrificing Facebook has been the most enlightening.
The first week, I could have used a few coffees but I absolutely and completely craved logging in and checking up on my friends through their status, photo and profile updates. By the beginning of the second week, coffee was a mere afterthought but I was desperate and incredibly melancholy over Facebook’s sudden departure from my life; notice I said Facebook’s absence, not those on my friend lists. I wanted to go on Facebook for the sake of going on Facebook; not for keeping up with my friends’ lives. Facebook itself tempted and taunted me with every key stroke and mouse click I made. “Don’t you want to see me?” it pled. “Nobody else ever needs to find out. It will be our little secret,” it purred; more enticing than a lover’s whisper or ice cream cake with extra crunchies.
Halfway through Lent, I desired coffee with a wild abandon but Facebook…I wanted to see what was going on but it wasn’t need or even a craving. I actually started thinking about what Facebook has meant to me these past few years and why it left such a hole. After all, it is just another networking website. If that’s all I wanted, MySpace and LinkedIn were still available to me. And I could always join Twitter.
But Facebook was, and is, different. Since Syracuse jumped on the Facebook bandwagon in the fall of 2004, the website became an instant source of distraction and, while I was abroad, comfort. And somewhere between then and now, Facebook actually became more like a friend than a social network. And it was the best sort of friend with the most interesting gossip and other humorous tidbits. I don’t actively keep in touch with friends or acquaintances via Facebook; granted, I’m terrible at keeping in touch in general (I hate the phone and I’m not good with e-mail). It’s become more like a passive form of voyeurism. I see what people are choosing to share.
I also realized people have grown increasingly lax and lazy in their correspondence and distant from each other as options for communications have multiplied. Instead of sending a birthday card or calling someone, most people just post on Facebook walls. But who wouldn’t prefer a phone call, a birthday card or even a birthday e-mail? (I know the post office would certainly appreciate some mailed cards.)
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