The rise of social media has me a little miffed. I'm chatting, blogging, tweeting and posting with abandon but I sometimes get the feeling that I've walked into a party in search of someone who's probably ditched me in advance of my arrival. Or I'm talking too loudly in a crowded room that's suddenly gone silent just in time for me to blurt, "Rectum? It nearly killed him!"
Then there's what I like to call social media's dirty little secret: it's a very public barometer of just how unsocial you actually are. And that messes with my self image. You see, sometimes, when I get mad at the world (about every Tuesday at 4), I shut my cell phone off and head for the nearest ivory tower, steadfastly refusing to answer the texts, tweets and chirps that connect us all to Kevin Bacon.
The truth is no one misses me. Online or off, the phone doesn’t stir, the computer doesn't beep--there's only silence. For the sake of my ego, I pretend that there are meaningful people looking for me who are saddened by their suspicion that I am deliberately concealing myself from their company. They're pinging me on Google, scouring Foursquare, poring over Facebook--aren't they? I wonder: if you hide and no one seeks, are you still hidden? Or are you merely overlooked or perhaps misplaced? It’s a pretty simple game but it does have rules you know. I embrace exile on principle. I’m Greta Garbo. “I vant to be left alone.”
And so I am.
People are funny that way. They can give you what you want in a smooth and effortless manner and, thanks to social media, they do. Honestly, I’m such a lucky man. This is my Walden Pond!
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