I deleted my Facebook account yesterday — the account that I opened in 2007 when the social media juggernaut was just starting to roll out of its college-only birthplace. It was a place where I posted more than 9,900 times — more than twice a day for over 11 years. It was a place where I met countless friends and shared so much of myself that I often ended up feeling exposed and empty. It was a place where I could be my best self, but often opened doors to my worst.
In the end it had to go because it was the place where I went to for the affirmation that I needed the most. I lived for the likes — and let their pulse become one with my own.
Today, I ran across this post on Instagram (where I’m still moderately active in a healthier way). It summed up what changed in me.
I will have to work harder to maintain my relationships with distant friends and family. Daily Facebook crossings give the illusion of depth. Now, those connections will require more intention than scrolling through a feed. In the end, I hope it gives them more meaning.
I think I finally have my math right as I open the next season of life.