<\/p>\n
I quit Facebook eight years ago.<\/p>\n
I walked away with the solemn drama of someone abdicating an imaginary throne, like there should\u2019ve been a tiny digital crowd gasping as I pressed \u201cdeactivate.\u201d There wasn\u2019t, of course; just me, my laptop and the uncomfortable realization that absolutely no one would notice.<\/p>\n
For years, I\u2019d been curating this strange museum of repetitive selfies, political rants, and birthday reminders for people I\u2019m pretty sure I once met in the \u201970s near a locker but couldn\u2019t pick out of a lineup today. My feed felt less like real life and more like a reality show written by algorithms \u2014 faker than a puppy filter and somehow louder than an actual puppy.<\/p>\n
Why did I walk away from Facebook? At some point it hit me: I couldn\u2019t possibly have 800 friends. I can\u2019t even keep five houseplants alive. Maintaining all those \u201cconnections\u201d was basically emotional juggling with strangers who vaguely remembered my last name.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n
I couldn\u2019t possibly have 800 friends; I can\u2019t possibly have 80 friends\u00a0\u2014\u00a0true friends. So, I left.<\/p>\n
I walked away from the drama of two middle-aged neighbors engaging in a heated showdown over the exact height of their garage sale lawn sign.\u202f<\/p>\n
I walked away from my aunt\u2019s numerous noble charitable deeds. These were largely unknown and highly questionable.<\/p>\n
I walked away from my twice-married niece\u2019s exuberant life in Chicago, New York City and Miami. I know she struggles to pay her bills.<\/p>\n
Yes, I walked away from fantastic stories no one could believe.<\/p>\n
Party after party. Perfectly made-up faces. Slender bodies and extravagant manicures. Expensive dinners and gourmet dishes. Very expensive wine. I walked away from it all.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n
I downsized my circle. Not in a minimalist, Scandinavian-furniture way \u2014 just in a \u201cmaybe I only need a handful of actual humans\u201d way.<\/p>\n
I am downsized to my cellphone and to writing to the kind who texts back with words instead of cryptic reaction GIFs.<\/p>\n
When I stopped scrolling through other people\u2019s lives like it was a never-ending soap opera, something weird happened.<\/p>\n
Time appeared. Whole stretches of it. Empty and quiet and a little terrifying, like when the power goes out and you suddenly hear your own breathing.<\/p>\n
So, I started reading again. Real books. Sentences with beginnings, middles and ends. I wandered into corners of the internet where people argued thoughtfully instead of exclusively in memes. My brain, which had been surviving on digital junk food, remembered what vegetables tasted like.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n
The whole exit was deeply uncinematic. No one begged me to stay. No violins were playing. Facebook didn\u2019t send a search party. But I gained this small, miraculous thing: privacy. Silence. The blissful freedom of not knowing what my former elementary school classmate had for breakfast.<\/p>\n
And it turns out that not knowing everything about everyone is its own kind of peace.<\/p>\n
So yeah, I traded the digital circus for a quieter life. And honestly, it feels a lot more like mine.<\/p>\n