Local view: After Facebook, life returns for real

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Someone wise once told me, “You can either have a great virtual life or a great real life, but having both is too much work.” I never really thought about that until last week when I bid my Facebook account farewell, mostly just to see if I could. I had done the majority of my communication via Facebook messaging and e-mail since 2009, and it was hard that first week to sit down at my laptop and not immediately log in to see what was going on in everyone’s world. I had gotten in touch with people with whom I had gone to high school and grade school, and I had kept track of what my teenage children were up to. (Yes, kids, if your parents are your Facebook “friends,” they can see what’s posted, from status updates you post to pictures in which you are tagged by others.)

I had forged a few professional relationships I was kind of sad to lose (I was “friends” with Al Davis, Robert Olen Butler and Allison Joseph, all famous writers), but in the grand scheme of things, I realize now I could have passed each and any of these people on the street and not have recognized them. They were hardly “friends.”

So, I logged out of Facebook. Then I logged back in and deleted my account in order to quell any weak moments I might have had. The first couple of days were the worst. Like breaking any addiction, I went through a period of withdrawal. There were no real physical symptoms, but, mentally, I was still dependent on my virtual life to connect me in real life. It was a difficult transition to make, actually talking to people instead of messaging them. I sat at my laptop for several minutes each morning, staring at the empty Google search box, wondering what was going on in Facebook-world. I didn’t know what else to search for.

Slowly, though, I became re-engaged in my real life. I spent time playing with my children, doing my chores and reading books, all the things I loved. When I was a slave to Facebook, I would do these things but would wish they would be over so I could check in on my virtual world. Sadly, as I acknowledge now, I cannot get those times back. But I can resolve to make the times I have now make up for them.

I was sad to lose Facebook at first. It had been my comfort — my friend, if you would — for years. I had lost touch with my family and my real friends because of it. As I maintained my independence from Facebook, it became easier and easier to function in the real world. I didn’t spend my time staring at the blank search engines anymore. In fact, I only logged on to the Internet when I was searching for something in particular. I became more productive. I wrote more. I did more around the house. I made supper. I read books.

And then my husband confessed he “really hated Facebook,” and that was enough to keep me off for good. He wanted to know why I quit it in the first place. I wasn’t sure and couldn’t tell him any more than that. I just know if I had given him access to my profile, our relationship would be just as strong as it is now. I could trade cell phones with him for a day and not worry myself sick, wondering what he might find. I don’t know many people who can say that, and that worries me about the state of humanity.

Now, when I turn on my cell phone to check my e-mail, to text my family that their supper is ready instead of yelling, or to (God forbid!) make a call, the little blue “f” icon is still there. But it isn’t tough to page past it, and someday soon I might actually delete it. Because I want a great real life, and I don’t care what happens in the virtual one.

Moriah Erickson is a writer and respiratory therapist who lives in Duluth’s Woodland neighborhood with her husband, Brian, a self-employed flooring contractor; their voiceless hound dog, Huckleberry; and their seven children.

Tags: local view, opinion, technology, family, community