“I’m staying off Facebook until I finish five books,” I said to my family last week during fall break.
I have this horrible habit of starting books and never finishing them. Currently, I’m in the middle of multiple books. Unlike my noisy phone, which constantly buzzes for my attention, the books lie quietly waiting for me to pick them up. They hope desperately that I’ll put away my pocket-sized screen and give them some well-deserved attention.
Sorry, darlings. I hope to spend more time with you soon.
While I did manage to finish one book over break and made some progress in another thanks to setting social media aside, I was confronted with a second bad habit last week, a habit that temporarily deleting Facebook failed to solve.
I take performative photos, often capturing moments simply to post them rather than to treasure them.
Unfortunately, this is not a new problem. I’ve been noticing it for a while. Last week in particular, I felt the pressure and guilt when I went to Sonic with my brother.
After waiting a surprisingly long time for my brother’s food to arrive, the scene was finally set. It was just him and me, sitting at the picnic table on a beautiful fall day. A scene so perfect I decided to photograph it. Pulling out my phone, I took a few photos before jumping into a real conversation with him during our meal.
Though I had resolved not to post my fall break photos since I was pausing from social media, the thought still lingered in the back of my mind as we sat there: “Even if I’m taking a break from Facebook now, I know I plan to get back on at some point, and I’m going to need pictures for when I do.”
Gone are the days of taking a photo simply for my own pleasure.
I went to Sonic to have some one-on-one time with my brother, just like I’ve gone on walks and had meals with people I love because I want to spend time with them, just them, without inviting all of my Facebook friends to join. What a beautiful and restful thing to enjoy human-to-human fellowship. At least it should be.
The problem is, in today’s culture, when we find ourselves having those beautiful, restful moments, we tend to feel the pressure to preserve and post them. “Look how good my life is! I promise I’m having a great time at college!” we say to the world. We plead for validity, saying, “Please don’t forget about me! Please like my message to affirm you still care about me!”
How cheap this all is.
Why are we letting a thumbs-up emoji be the deciding factor of the depth of a relationship? Why do we let the reaction of our “friends” (sometimes those we barely know) decide if our college experience is “good enough”? Who gets to decide the standard anyway? It’s a never-ending, identity-crisis-inducing cycle.
When we become so focused on the response we get to a post, we’re essentially handing over our lives to an online audience, granting them permission to comment, like and critique every moment of our personal lives. At that point, I’m not even sure if it’s personal anymore. In some twisted way, it seems that social media has made life more into a collaborative, peer-reviewed project than an honest, private journal entry.
For the record, I’m not anti-social media. I love seeing updates from friends and family back home. Despite being five hours away from home, I can open Facebook and instantly be connected to those I care about. I love seeing their photos, and I know they love seeing mine.
But our capacity for intimate relationships is just too small to be connected with such a large quantity of people in a moment-by-moment, personal way. We shouldn’t be surrendering our human interactions to a digital world at the price of anxiety, unhealthy competition and restlessness.
This doesn’t mean I’ll never post a picture again; I fully intend to do so. But first, I just want to savor the moment.
I want to pick up a book and finish it.
Go on a walk just to chat with a dear friend.
Watch the sunset using my actual eyeballs instead of a manmade camera.
Maybe sometimes I’ll take pictures of these things, but hopefully, more often than not, I won’t, or at least not for the sake of posting.
Sorry, Shakespeare, but life doesn’t have to be a stage all the time.
We don’t need a public audience every day.
Pictures are meant to serve us, not vice versa. The enslaving cycle of performative photography must be broken.
Moment-by-moment.
Day-by-day.
One less photo here, and one less photo there.
Next time we scroll through our camera rolls, let’s take a few moments to reflect on the captured moments of grace. Let’s breathe deeply, reflect thoughtfully and rest peacefully in all things good and beautiful.
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