That moment when I was unfriended
I have had some great ideas pass my way. And some not so great ideas. They were not necessarily mine to begin with but I like to believe that I could recognize the truth no matter the source and I like to think I can outgrow the untruths like a bad haircut, if I just give it enough time and wear hats.
When dealing with these thoughts and ideas on social media, I know that I check way too often to see if those moments of lucidity are intriguing or appealing to others. If it resonates then maybe it is more valid. As if the Facebook algorithm could capture epiphanies and imagination and spirit. Still, I count. Stupidly. Silly kitty video, 83 likes. Posting of something clever one or the other of my boys did or said, 28 likes. Searing commentary on some current affair, 3, then 4, then maybe 5 likes.
But at the core, I remember that whatever I may post is, most of all, for me. I write because I have to write. I have to work through the thoughts and the ideas. And I write about the things that make me question my humanity and my understanding and my place in the scheme of things. I have been stupid. I have been mean. I have been petty and passive aggressive. Sometimes I have bordered on genius. (But then it goes away.) Either way, having written it down, I have the opportunity to reflect and mull over and edit or refine as needed. To help me more accurately define the world according to me.
Many people have gotten off that roller coaster ride of mine by their own choosing, and I can't sweat it in the slightest when I am just doing the best that I can. I can't sweat it, but still I do. I have often been confused about what exactly it was I said or did. My husband has asked me that question too. What did YOU do? As if he was the easiest to get along with. Maybe he is. Ha. Maybe I joke
In the meantime, I have continued my social, political commentary unrelenting and unrepentant because I don't often talk of the weather or fashion. And I have found myself occasionally wanting to have a conversation and dialog on these ideas to flesh it out and expand only to find that I am not very good at finding a willing and able partner. Sometimes it feels that writing is inefficient and open to misinterpretation, but no moreso than a face-to-face conversation. And, if I wonder if it was always thus, I am reminded of history's greatest first-hand accounts to be found in correspondence from both world leaders and everyday folks, alike. So, absent resorting to hand-written letters taking weeks or months to put together and reach the intended recipient, we have the internet and the blogs and ubiquitous facebook post and conversation can be had in an instant.
I have deliberately unfriended exactly one person because I didn't want to read or hear what they had to say and I didn't want them to read or see my posts. And, also because they scared me.
Others, I have unfollowed and ignored and moved to a private list of acquaintances relegated to only seeing my public posts (should they so choose) and my limited profile
That is not to say that my friend list remains static and unchangeable. Occasionally, I discover that I have been friended by someone I have never met and know nothing about. Sometimes, even those I specifically remembering choosing NOT to friend or add or whatever appear as "friends."
The real interesting changes to my friend list come from those who self-select themselves out the door.
Most recently, the #blacklivesmatter and #rethinkpolicing and #gunviolence posts have been the catalysts for friends and family alike. And it surprises me every time. Because... I like to think that I wouldn't be friends with... but you never really know someone until you walk in their shoes or read a Facebook post about something that matters.
With the terrorist attack by a young white supremacist in South Carolina, I wanted to get some perspective from one person in particular. And, while I kind of suspected the disappearance from the quiet, it was kind of sad to confirm the unfriending.
Oh, that moment when... [insert funny meme here].
Yes, that works.
I have been unsteady in my willingness to speak out loud, in my ability to comment in public, because in the last few years I have been man-handled and arrested, and hit by a car and laughed at and harassed and ignored, belittled and betrayed, lied to and about. So, yeah, I am feeling a little vulnerable. And, a little tired. My refuge has been home and my kids and Law and Order in syndication and The West Wing on Netflix and sleep.
But I have not seen the worst thing ever and my wounds are small and superficial in the scheme of things. And, there's #worktodo. And, if it isn't me, then who? And, if it isn't now, then when? So I write as I can.
Upon the discovery of this particular unfriending, I got sidelined by some confusion and anger. What are the stages of grief? Well, whatever they are, I went through them and decided to write some things down so I would have a reference for when it happened again because #Charleston and #gunviolence and #allhandsondeck and I am me.
On the occasion of our disconnect.
I want to go on the attack and put it on you... and I can. I can rationalize anything. I can finger point with the best of them. These are a few of the nicest things I thought:
I understand the impulse and yearning to look away and how you might just want it to stop. I get how tired you must be hearing about things you don't want to hear about, experiences that don't seem relevant or real and that you don't have answers to if you were to accept that maybe they were.
I question my understanding and thinking all the time. I wonder why I do not turn away. I want to talk about the weather and a reality tv show and I want to hear one voice that explains it all and also gives me permission to just go along, not questioning what's behind the curtain.
I'm tired of wondering who can and can't handle the truth or the ideas or the reality.
I am disappointed. I think you are stronger, smarter, braver, tougher, wiser than you give yourself credit for. I am disappointed that maybe you are not.
I am confident that some part of you understands that it isn't me that is the problem.
What I can sit with is this -
I didn't go chasing you and beg you to listen or beg you not to leave. I didn't ask you to participate in the first place.
Here's the other two things I know...
When dealing with these thoughts and ideas on social media, I know that I check way too often to see if those moments of lucidity are intriguing or appealing to others. If it resonates then maybe it is more valid. As if the Facebook algorithm could capture epiphanies and imagination and spirit. Still, I count. Stupidly. Silly kitty video, 83 likes. Posting of something clever one or the other of my boys did or said, 28 likes. Searing commentary on some current affair, 3, then 4, then maybe 5 likes.
But at the core, I remember that whatever I may post is, most of all, for me. I write because I have to write. I have to work through the thoughts and the ideas. And I write about the things that make me question my humanity and my understanding and my place in the scheme of things. I have been stupid. I have been mean. I have been petty and passive aggressive. Sometimes I have bordered on genius. (But then it goes away.) Either way, having written it down, I have the opportunity to reflect and mull over and edit or refine as needed. To help me more accurately define the world according to me.
Many people have gotten off that roller coaster ride of mine by their own choosing, and I can't sweat it in the slightest when I am just doing the best that I can. I can't sweat it, but still I do. I have often been confused about what exactly it was I said or did. My husband has asked me that question too. What did YOU do? As if he was the easiest to get along with. Maybe he is. Ha. Maybe I joke
In the meantime, I have continued my social, political commentary unrelenting and unrepentant because I don't often talk of the weather or fashion. And I have found myself occasionally wanting to have a conversation and dialog on these ideas to flesh it out and expand only to find that I am not very good at finding a willing and able partner. Sometimes it feels that writing is inefficient and open to misinterpretation, but no moreso than a face-to-face conversation. And, if I wonder if it was always thus, I am reminded of history's greatest first-hand accounts to be found in correspondence from both world leaders and everyday folks, alike. So, absent resorting to hand-written letters taking weeks or months to put together and reach the intended recipient, we have the internet and the blogs and ubiquitous facebook post and conversation can be had in an instant.
I have deliberately unfriended exactly one person because I didn't want to read or hear what they had to say and I didn't want them to read or see my posts. And, also because they scared me.
Others, I have unfollowed and ignored and moved to a private list of acquaintances relegated to only seeing my public posts (should they so choose) and my limited profile
That is not to say that my friend list remains static and unchangeable. Occasionally, I discover that I have been friended by someone I have never met and know nothing about. Sometimes, even those I specifically remembering choosing NOT to friend or add or whatever appear as "friends."
The real interesting changes to my friend list come from those who self-select themselves out the door.
Most recently, the #blacklivesmatter and #rethinkpolicing and #gunviolence posts have been the catalysts for friends and family alike. And it surprises me every time. Because... I like to think that I wouldn't be friends with... but you never really know someone until you walk in their shoes or read a Facebook post about something that matters.
With the terrorist attack by a young white supremacist in South Carolina, I wanted to get some perspective from one person in particular. And, while I kind of suspected the disappearance from the quiet, it was kind of sad to confirm the unfriending.
Oh, that moment when... [insert funny meme here].
I have been unsteady in my willingness to speak out loud, in my ability to comment in public, because in the last few years I have been man-handled and arrested, and hit by a car and laughed at and harassed and ignored, belittled and betrayed, lied to and about. So, yeah, I am feeling a little vulnerable. And, a little tired. My refuge has been home and my kids and Law and Order in syndication and The West Wing on Netflix and sleep.
But I have not seen the worst thing ever and my wounds are small and superficial in the scheme of things. And, there's #worktodo. And, if it isn't me, then who? And, if it isn't now, then when? So I write as I can.
Upon the discovery of this particular unfriending, I got sidelined by some confusion and anger. What are the stages of grief? Well, whatever they are, I went through them and decided to write some things down so I would have a reference for when it happened again because #Charleston and #gunviolence and #allhandsondeck and I am me.
On the occasion of our disconnect.
I want to go on the attack and put it on you... and I can. I can rationalize anything. I can finger point with the best of them. These are a few of the nicest things I thought:
- When you think you're brave, think about that moment when you couldn't handle a difficult conversation.
- When you think you're loving and kind, think about that moment when you forsook the person who worked really hard to have that conversation with you.
- When you think you know anything, think about that moment when you couldn't hear one more thing that might make you think differently or change your mind or question what you have always known
- When you think you're faithful, and accepting and tolerant and fair, think about that moment when you just wanted me to shut up.
I understand the impulse and yearning to look away and how you might just want it to stop. I get how tired you must be hearing about things you don't want to hear about, experiences that don't seem relevant or real and that you don't have answers to if you were to accept that maybe they were.
I question my understanding and thinking all the time. I wonder why I do not turn away. I want to talk about the weather and a reality tv show and I want to hear one voice that explains it all and also gives me permission to just go along, not questioning what's behind the curtain.
I'm tired of wondering who can and can't handle the truth or the ideas or the reality.
I am disappointed. I think you are stronger, smarter, braver, tougher, wiser than you give yourself credit for. I am disappointed that maybe you are not.
I am confident that some part of you understands that it isn't me that is the problem.
What I can sit with is this -
- Maybe I planted some seed of understanding or some itch of an unknown that must be known
- I'm not the one who stepped in your face on your page in your commentary or in your direct message and dropped my opinion
- I don't do that (any more) (or at least I try) (I have deleted my own comments more than once)
- You had something to refute my words and you put it out there (and you didn't delete it, you deleted me)
- You added some angle that maybe I hadn't considered (and maybe I hadn't)
- You said what you said and then... And then you ran away like a little bitch when shit got real. When I stepped up and said, I hear you. What about this? What about that? Or wait a minute, do you mean...? and continued the conversation that you jumped in.
I didn't go chasing you and beg you to listen or beg you not to leave. I didn't ask you to participate in the first place.
Here's the other two things I know...
- I am trying to find the answers and think the thoughts that embrace love and unity and hope and better than before
- The questions are still there and will find you in other ways and you will have to figure it out one way or another.
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