Jane 

Lizzie and I have been talking a lot about Facebook and how it is affecting people’s lives in a positive way.   And, sadly, in some negative ways as well.  I need to come clean on this before proceeding:  I am a bit obsessive about all things Internet.  Liberal blogosphere, games, and especially Facebook.  There is something so addictive and seductive about logging on each day, never knowing what person from your past might pop up.  

 

Those of us who are a bit older, who segued onto the Internet as the medium appeared and grew, are not nearly as free of self-consciousness as our younger counterparts.  Some have adapted to the online culture.  Perhaps a smaller subset of those never felt a strong inclination towards discretion in real life either.  And then, there are those among my peers who are not so willing to expose themselves online, or create what my husband has referred to as a “Google Trail”.  I believe that social networking sites or not, if you have a job, or your own business, if you volunteer, or participate in, or belong to any sort of organization, you will wind up with that Google Trail.  

Jane, you’ve articulated the Facebook Conundrum so well. There are those who reinvent themselves and those who expose themselves on Facebook.  Those who boast and bloviate–and those who plead for anyone to see them, hug them, poke them, or even just send a shred of good karma.  Some are like Jim Carrey’s character from The Truman Show–except self-consciously so.  And so their minute-by-minute existence becomes a sort of trivial, narcissistic exhibitionism–complete with Truman-esque product placement asides. Sadly, there are also those whose midlife-crisis-dulled brains have tripped off all critical filter switches.  They conclude that their lives are gray and disappointing compared to the carefully stylized lives of the reinventors, the exhibitionists, the narcissists, the bloviators–and heck, even the plaintive pleaders. 

Some of the dramas I’ve seen enacted as shadowplays across my newsfeeds over my 18 months of Facebooking have made me laugh, roll my eyes, or shut down my browser window in disgust.  But a couple have combined all of the above–AND kept me awake at night worrying about the wives, husbands, and children of these people I haven’t seen or known since high school. Or the people I thought I knew well but (apparently) didn’t.

The most unforgettable of all was the fully-status-updated adulterous affair I watched germinate, blossom, and wither on Facebook over the course of three months.  The red-hot lovers were two high school classmates (Let’s just call them Lancelot and Guinevere–Lance and Gwen for short.)  Let me see if I can reconstruct the unfolding progression of flirtation, adultery, and wreckage.

Lance, a guy I barely knew in high school (and who I remember only from seeing him bloody in the penalty box at hockey games) friends me.  His profile info makes it clear that he is restless, a tad disappointed in his life, and in the midst of a big career transition. 

Lance suggests I friend Gwen, another classmate, who is “just about the nicest person” he’s talked to in ages.  I didn’t like Gwen much in high school–she was sort of a snotty queen bee type.  But whatever, it’s only Facebook.  So Gwen and I become Facebook friends.

Lance’s next few status updates tell about an impromptu trip to surprise an old friend on her birthday, a “never felt happier” sort of glow, and a “best day of my whole life” report.

Gwen’s status updates go back and forth between “think I might be falling in love” and “think I need to get to an AA meeting.”

Lance adds an application that communicates his mood (complete with illustrative icons) on an hourly basis.  For a couple of days on end, the icons announce him as “horny”, “very horny,” or “super-horny.”

Gwen adds the same application and mirrors each of Lance’s banal “horny reports.”

I receive a private message from Lance, confiding in me that he is having an affair with Gwen–Really?!  You don’t say!– that he is in love like no one has ever been in love before and ready to leave his wife and four kids.  He feels the need for some advice about what to say to his wife, and it occurred to him to ask me, since I am a woman and I seem to have a pretty good head on my shoulders.

I feel a weird mix of emotions.  Discomfort and wariness, certainly.  But, I admit, I am also…moved. By his transparency and his loneliness.  I have never been approached before by anyone so open about their aching and confusion.  A relative stranger and a man, no less.  Though it’s been easy to laugh over the daily Facebook adultery notifications, there is, I am reminded, still a solemn human element to all of this.  Real families hurting, genuine loneliness and sorrow and bewilderment.

I offer what wisdom I can, guarding my tone carefully against any hint of judgment or self-righteousness.  (Because, if I am honest with myself, I DO feel a little self-righteous–and I know that is ugly and mean.)  I urge couple’s counseling, reminding him that no matter what he decides, he will always be in some sort of a parenting relationship with the mother of his four children.  It sure would be good if he and his wife could work things out….

I get no response beyond a terse, “I don’t think that’s gonna happen!”  Oh well.  I tried, I think.  And I figure I won’t have to wonder about the outcome of the affair, because I can follow the twists and turns of the story even more regularly than All My Children.

Here’s a fast-forward of what happens in the month after my private correspondence with Lance:

Both change their status from “married” to “in a relationship.”

He leaves his job for one closer to her; she goes looking for a new apartment.  (I even get to see a picture of the new digs.)

Both give updates about having to deal with difficult people (presumably the wounded spouses and teenage children).

And then…nothing for a couple of weeks.

Another private message from Lance.  He’s gone back to his wife and is trying to rebuild the relationship.  Gwen is furious and has blocked him from her friend list.  After all, she was ready to 

give up even her relationships with her children for him.  (What?!)  Lance misses Gwen.  Could I look at Gwen’s profile and tell him what’s new with her?

Um…okay, Lance, if you’re sure you really want to know.  (Click.)  Well, Lance…Gwen is “in a new relationship.”  She is beaming in the arms of some pale balding guy.  Judging from the slightly bilious look of the guy, I’m guessing he’s new to recovery and that they met at an AA meeting.  The older-and-wiser Gwen also has a bunch of faux-profound quotations on her profile about “moving on” and “never being afraid to love again.”

Lance is hurt but stoic.  “Well, she sure did have it in her to be mean,” he observes.  “In fact, when we were sleeping together, she’d deliberately piss off her husband by wearing sweatpants around the house with ‘Lance’ written on the butt in black sharpie pen.”

Oh my.  Awful.  But, well, I’ve gotta give the bitchy Gwen credit for sheer cajones.  And I can’t help but think what a perfect status update that would have made.  So much more original and diva-like than all the tawdry horny alerts.  ”Gwen…just pissed her husband off by bending over and sticking the black name of her lover in his cuckolded face.”

While I take a breath and think some more about the “midlife comparison game,” let me ask you, Jane–what’s your final verdict on Facebook?  The apps and the games, the chats and the gossip?  I know you love it like no one else I’ve met.  But are there times when it’s too much even for you?  When it adds to your stress or worries rather than your relaxation?

 

 

 

Lizzie

Ah yes, the detestable chat feature.  With only a few exceptions, “annoying” and “creepy” are certainly the adjectives that best apply.  Here’s the thing:  I am confronted continually with the needs and demands of my family.  They are people I love, and I want to be a help and support to them.  Yet, even they, beloved and adored though they are, can get annoying.  Their demands are in real-time and cannot be turned off by setting my status to “offline.”  Nor would I want to be an “offline” mom/wife/sister/daughter/in-law.  I will stop what I am doing to respond instantaneously to my dear ones’ requests–but I draw the line there. 

The mere fact of my sitting at my computer does not entitle Joe Schmoe from grad school to my precious time.  What is more, the Joe Schmoe that I am getting to know better on Facebook seems, well, not quite all there.  Or maybe it’s that the parts that are there are just not all that captivating.  

Maybe it is uncharitable of me to deem Joe “creepy,” but I am uncomfortable with so many things about this pest.  His expectation that I will respond to his every chat opener.  (And why is it that when I poke my virtual head out of my virtual turtle shell, he is always there?  Lurking, it would seem.  Eeww.)  His repeated, “Are you there?  Are you there?  Say hello if you’re there!”  His every-so-slightly suggestive remarks.  His endless supply of emoticons.  His misspellings and grammar crimes.  His “ha ha” and his “hee hee” and his “heh heh”.  His over-the-top “ROTFLOL” over any tired joke. 

Creepy or not (I could be overreacting to cloddish innocence, I admit), Joe nonetheless represents pretty much everything that I avoid in life.  I will not invite Joe into my morning coffee hour.  Never, nunca, niemals!  Hence, the chat feature is ALWAYS off when I log onto Facebook.  Problem solved.  If only all pointless and annoying intrusions could be solved so handily.

 

Jane