Rethinking Social Media

To increase mindfulness, I shall scroll… less.

My thumb was starting to cramp from scrolling. I had a stiff kink in the back of my neck from gazing slightly down at my phone screen. Outside, the balmy spring afternoon was being slowly steeped in shades of purple twilight while here in my living room I sat, my mind wandering down a path of FOMO and judgment, comparison and conflict, escapism and envy.

Sound familiar? This was me so many morning and evenings when I would rather have been writing, or sitting in my garden, or reading a book or magazine, or talking with my husband. Instead, I was staring at a glowing gallery of images and information curated by a range of individuals, some people who I knew in real life and others I had never and would never likely meet. Some were complete strangers, while others were world-famous celebrities made familiar by their time spent televised into my home and life.

I quit Facebook about six months ago and I do not miss it at all. There is rarely a time when I even think about it, save when someone in my real life interaction mentions it or I see someone using it on their phone. Occasionally there is a group or event that is only available on Facebook, but those times are fairly few and I am usually able to find the information that I need elsewhere. But I was reluctant to quit my beloved Instagram, the visual eye candy that grew more integral to my diet of information consumption each day. Until, at last, I was done with it.

There are many subtle ways a lack of presence can erode our happiness and quality of life. Escapism takes many forms. For me, mindless social media usage was just one of many habits that I hoped to reduce or eliminate in the name of being more present in reality. Over the past months, I had been growing increasingly tired of not fully appreciating all that I have been gifted over the years and all that I had worked so hard to achieve — not the least of which was peace of mind and management of my lifelong OCD.

I am well aware that quitting social media does not automatically make you happier. I know plenty of folks who have a poor attitude about the present despite never having opened a Facebook page in their lives; people who have only seen birds tweet. Escape cam come through work, by watching TV, or by simply living in an imaginary version of reality and then bemoaning the fact that what they experience does not match their expectation. This is to some extent what we do when we scroll our Instagram feed, comparing ourselves and our circumstances (consciously or not) to what we see and are fed by the algorithm. Those folks I know in real life who deny themselves peace of mind and happiness are ruled by an alternate but no less insidious algorithm. The difference is that they themselves, not the big brothers at Facebook, are in control of this feed — a feed composed of what-ifs, shoulds, and glorified versions of how things could be or were in the past. If only I had sold that house, married that man, or taken that job my life would be perfect. If only I could buy that car, that couch, or that dog I would be happy. If I could only lose that last 20 pounds, keep my kitchen sparkling clean, or get straight A’s I would be content.

But, as we know, the answer is that none of these things are the source of true happiness. I am no different than my fellow human being in the struggle to manage my “monkey mind” and remain conscious, engaged, and fully present in my life. As a lifelong perfectionist and high-achiever, I have grown tired of criticizing myself, and by extension, others. As a person who has chased external validation for nearly my entire life, I am ready for a new way of being. I am ready to seek validation from myself. The most difficult part of this journey so far has been realizing the extent to which I criticized myself and, unable to validate my own good deeds, sought external praise from others. Instagram and Facebook are designed to feed off this dopamine reward system. On one hand, I could say that I did not care about followers and likes, while on the other hand, I would be checking my phone nearly first thing in the morning to see how many likes and followers I had garnered overnight, thinking I know this photo is good so I’m sure everyone else who sees it will, too, right? I mean, don’t I have classy good taste after all?

I began to question why I was posting any of this, anyway. Was it authentically to let people know where I was or what I was doing? Or was it to curate an appearance and online image for the outside world, for people whose opinions no longer held the validation that I once so strongly desired?

Adding to my frustration with the nature of this game was a growing awareness of the nearly constant thought in the back of my mind as I experienced certain activities or events that I should be capturing this for Instagram. Should it be a story or a post? Should I take the photo landscape or portrait? What about a filter, or no?

As a poet and artist, I believe in the value of rules, guidelines, form, and restraint. Sometimes rigid structure allows you the creative freedom to work within it, letting the form decide some elements of your creation for you and giving you a platform from which to expand or embellish freely. But in these Instagram instances, I did not feel free. I felt pulled away from the present moment and my experience of it by a pernicious thought about how the moment would then be experienced by my followers on Instagram. Just as I did not always want to take my camera with me on every hike or vacation, knowing that carrying it would make it difficult for me to be present at the moment versus capturing the moment, I did not want to carry social media with me any longer. I wanted to be truly free in my ability to experience life.

I was, finally, OK with myself. And I was OK with being in the present moment, tolerating the joy and discomfort that is the gift of being human. I am at a point in my life when I want to act and live in a way that pleases me, simply because it brings me joy. This is what it feels like to not give a damn what people think, and I can tell you it feels mighty fine.