Quit Your Facebook

Less Facebook. More homemade muffins on the beach.

The little red dot indicating someone noticed me wasn't that exciting anymore. Less and less, I had something to say about a status update. Everyone's day seemed like a varying shade of neutral. Each ad I came across in my newsfeed, I marked as “SPAM” just because I could. I was still bothered by the fact that, if I had a child and really wanted to post a picture of me breast feeding him or her, it would probably be censored. I didn't feel like reading or being confused by the latest iteration of the privacy policy. Finally, Mark Zuckerberg's claim of ignorance on our government's probable Fourth Amendment breach was the status update that broke the camel's back. I quit Facebook.

This might sound familiar to you. Every time I'd sit down to write, I'd open another browser tab and check Facebook for anything new. Someone “Likes” that cat .gif I posted. My brother added yet another photo of a pug. That friend from middle school who has nothing in common with me anymore is up to a lot of stuff I have nothing to comment on. That nice girl who married an acquaintance of mine still has an annoying job. Someone's father passed away. George Takei posted another 'punny' picture. I sat down to write to create something, but in between sentences were spurts of I'm only giving away time to noting very important.

Most of my Facebook time occurred in spurts between sentences. As a longtime office-worker, I know perfectly well that it's healthier to take a walking break or a quick stretch respite when sitting hunched over a computer screen for hours. But, rather than taking a turn about the room, I took a scroll about Facebook. And, I kept doing it. I was on some internal alarm clocks that said “Ding, stop and look at Facebook.” In the haze of headache just a few weeks ago when Zuckerberg addressed his company's involvement, or apparent lack thereof, in PRISM, and the knowledge that my activity on Facebook is data for advertisers, I asked myself, “What am I getting out of it?”

Employers might decide to hire or not to hire an intelligent, qualified person based on her photos of a New Year's 2009 party emblazoned on Facebook. Would that photo of me looking sweaty and drunk while sitting on my husband's lap at karaoke keep me from my dream job even while I interviewed well? Even though my references could vouch for me as a responsible independent leader? Is Facebook some kind of member of HR no one has to pay in this case?

I think about the defendant on an episode of Divorce Court I just watched who had a secret Facebook account to carry on a relationship with another woman, and then another secret Facebook account to carry on another relationship with another other woman. I suppose what this guy gets out of Facebook is extra hanky panky. That's good for him, I guess, until he ends up on that show.

On the bright side, a cold case detective once created a false Facebook account in an attempt to solve a possible murder case, which in part lead to the conviction of a killer. Loved ones can get the word out on their missing person faster and easier than other means. But I'm thinking in the immediate, hopefully it doesn't come to that for me or anyone I know.

So what was I using Facebook for? Pinterest and blogs feed my hobbies. I discover why the Muni trains are running off schedule and what's happening in Gezi up-to-the-moment of the happenings via Twitter. I may even compose a brilliantly witty statement myself in 140 characters! (Pinterest and Twitter, by the way, are not websites in which the NSA was surveying at the time of the PRISM break.) For my writing career, I have a grand plan for my own blog and a small website as hub for that. How will people find it? I don't know, I guess I'll work really hard at getting work out there. Put some elbow grease into it. I couldn't figure out what I was personally gaining from the compulsive twitch to switch from my actual work to checking Facebook.

It started to feel like Facebook was that spot out back behind a building where you find an upside down milk crate with a well-worn dip in it and a coffee can filled with rain water and cigarette butts. I could go out back on Facebook and blow all that is currently miffing or delighting me out in smoke rings. I might even run into my best friend, my cousins, or that girl from middle school who will commiserate or celebrate with me. (If you really wanted to, you could breast feed out back behind a building. It might not be the best, but you could do it.) But, I'm not a smoker. Never really was.

So, I made an announcement letting my friends, near and far, know that if they wanted to keep in touch with me now was the time to exchange information. Many of those who asked for my email congratulated me on leaving, and lamented having a ball and chain with Facebook. I've heard similar encouragement when I started training for a 5K, and I can imagine it's not dissimilar to what I'd hear if I were a smoker trying to quit. "Good for you," in the same sentence as "I should really do that too but—." But what?

I was asked why I was leaving Facebook by these people. Over and over, I stated the same reasons mentioned—the general loss of interest coupled with the unappealing possibility that the company doesn't take privacy too seriously. But what it really came down to was one word. Control.

I was getting lunch at Subway once where it hit me. Four 20, 30-some year old men were in line in front of me. They were heads down, hands propping up their iPhones, thumb rowing through the endless status updates on the navy and white interface. None of them looked up from their glowing phones as their feet shuffled forward in line. I thought of Shawn of the Dead.

While I had a Facebook app on my phone for only a few days before I deleted it, I wasn't too unlike these dudes at Subway. As I described, I would stop frequently during what should be a solid writing work period to see what in the world was happening, only to find nothing was. I didn't have to keep doing that. I didn't have to stick around. I simply looked up “how to quit Facebook” and found a site that included a direct link to their Account Deactivation page and explained that I aught not to log into the site for two weeks after deleting my profile. It was actually pretty easy to take control there. You just up and leave if you want.

This is all easy for me to say. Perhaps I never had a real addition or a serious problem, and perhaps I never depended on it like others might.

Being absent from the most popular social media platform will allow me to miss out on things. If pictures of me go up that I never want anyone to ever see and fear will keep me from a job, then I have other issues. I will not see a some of my friends' beautiful wedding photos, but I could always ask to see them. I will miss pictures of that pug my brother likes so much. I will not know how people's jobs, cats, and neighbors are doing. I will not know what you ate for lunch. (Sorry, I quit Instagram a while back, too.)

So far, it's been a week and a half since I've removed myself from the smoker's crew. Friends have said to me “Oh, you're not on Facebook so you couldn't tell you about this thing I saw that you'd love but it's a moot point now,” about three times. I took the Facebook bookmark off of my browser toolbar, but I've definetely still stopped and opened a browser tab to check the big bad 'book without even realizing I was doing it. Instead, I collect knitting patterns and recipes on Pinterest, get the news scoop on Twitter, make a sandwich, look out the window, or even just sit and write. My writing productivity, by the way, up about 80% since the exodus. What's my status. Pretty dang good.

How are you feeling?