Free from the sugar high that is Facebook

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 12/04/2018 (2451 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Welcome to Jen Tries, a semi-regular feature in which Free Press columnist Jen Zoratti will try something new and report back. In this instalment, Jen Tries… quitting Facebook: Part 2.

 

Earlier this week, Facebook founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg testified before U.S. Congress, concerning the Cambridge Analytica data scandal. I’m sure you’ve seen all the memes. He really does look like Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

I saw all the memes because Zuckerberg’s 10-hour grilling session in Washington, D.C., happened to dovetail with the end of my two-week Facebook hiatus. You may recall my March 23 Jen Tries column, in which I decided to take a short break from the social-media site I’ve been using for more than a decade, not because I was particularly concerned about my privacy, but because Facebook wasn’t fun any more.

The verdict: consider the following a letter of recommendation for getting off Facebook, even temporarily.

On the big day, a Saturday, I didn’t deactivate or delete my account. I posted my column and then I just… logged off, without ceremony. And then I stayed logged off for 14 days. Now, I’m not a big believer in deprivation-based challenges, nor in the boot-camping of one’s life. But I did quit sugar for 11 days in 2014 while I was trying to rule out food sensitivities, and quitting Facebook is a lot like quitting sugar: hard for the first few days and then the cravings subside. Your palate changes and when you go back to it, it no longer has the same grip it once did.

Obviously, I still eat sugar from time to time. And I probably will still use Facebook, though I will use it much less. My relationship to it changed, markedly, in just two weeks. Facebook was not available to me as a distraction/procrastination device, so I was able to get more done, more quickly — not just at work, but at home, too. I couldn’t get sucked into arguments or conversations or The Scroll. I felt like I had found time, a sensation akin to discovering a $10 bill in the pocket of your parka.

And then, unencumbered by screens, I sat down and read Infinite Jest, cover to cover. By candlelight. Kidding! I probably just watched something on Netflix. But the point is: I did feel better. And I did make it to the gym more. I walked the dog more. Instead of checking Facebook when I struggled through a paragraph, I… I don’t know, looked out a window or something.

But I also had the sense I was missing out. My colleagues and friends would have a new meme or piece of gossip or viral article and say, “Did you see this?” No, I did not see it. I also felt less socially connected. Facebook gives us a false sense of closeness; it’s easy to be tricked into believing we see our friends and family more often than we do. The act of “catching up” with someone is becoming as obsolete as talking on the telephone. Facebook has a way of blunting in-person conversations. I already know your big news because I saw it on the newsfeed.

Being off Facebook also made me reassess the currency placed on “Likes.” Those encouraging little thumbs-up are called Likes for a reason; they capitalize on a human desire for approval and validation. I always thought I was someone who didn’t care about being liked. Turns out, I did care about being liked — on Facebook. The more time I spent off the site, the less important those Likes became.

I heard from many Free Press readers who had quit Facebook. Like, really quit. They reported feeling less anxious and more happy. One woman took up volunteering. I was reminded of a column I wrote years ago about a local man who quit all technology for 30 days, and how he found “the white space in his mind again.” I felt the same way. My margins were no longer crowded with bits and pieces of unprocessed information. 

When I logged back into Facebook after two weeks, I was met with 41 new notifications, blaring at me in their siren red. Almost none of them were really for me. So-and-so’s birthday was on April 3. So-and-so and 18 other friends are interested in an event near you. I missed a few messages, but I’ve learned through this experiment that most messages aren’t as urgent as your phone’s insistent push notifications make them seem. If someone really needed me, they could find a way get a hold of me.

After all, Facebook or no Facebook, no one is really truly unavailable anymore — and people will remember you exist, even if you don’t regularly appear in their newsfeed.

jen.zoratti@freepress.mb.ca Twitter: @JenZoratti