Goodbye, Instagram (Please Still Send Me Pictures of Your Kids)
Photo by @carolexm on Unsplash
Whenever I see a post or an email from a writer or figure or friend that says, “I’m taking a break from social media,” I experience both joy and envy in equal amounts. Just how I like my hot fudge-to-ice cream ratio.
I am elated for them and silently berating myself from the comfort of my couch, where I am scrolling for the 33rd minute on Instagram that was supposed to only be a “real quick check-in” to “see if I had any notifications.”
I regularly want to get off all social media channels and be like my incredibly cool roommate from my sophomore year of college, Shannon. That girl wore thrifted clothes before it was cool, crimped her hair because she liked to (and it worked for her), and listened to music whose artists I wasn’t remotely cool enough to have heard of. She deleted her Facebook in 2013 and never looked back, and damn, I wish I were that cool.
I also deleted my Facebook, but only for about a year and for very different reasons (There were too many photos of my ex boyfriend to delete even after I spent four straight hours trying, and also I felt safer in knowing that some not-nice family members couldn’t have a play-by-play of my every breath and bad day). I got back on Facebook shortly before I started grad school so that I could “friend” my new classmates (who were initially very freaked out by my short and sparse profile).
I haven’t deleted any other social media profiles since because I’ve always had one totally rational reason or another not too. Here are those totally reasonable reasons:
1.) I moved far away from my hometown and I want to know what is going on in my friends’ lives/ see their cute kids in their Easter outfits.
2.) I started blogging semi-seriously three years ago and it feels impossible to be found on the internet or considered legitimate without an Instagram (even if no one finds you there anyway because you are an “artist” and only “teenagers doing a perfectly choreographed dance” or “dogs” go viral).
3.) I don’t wanna.
Number 3 is the worst one, because it reminds me of a truth I don’t want to admit. When I scream, “I can stop whenever I want!!!” to no one but myself, Number 3 raises its eyebrows like, “Yeah, sure you can.” And then I go into a rage spiral and avoid feeling this terrible judgmental feeling by watching videos of cute ducks waddling across a busy road to safety with the help of the entire town coming together.
I don’t wanna, but I desperately wanna.
I want to look at a photo in my city’s charming little newspaper and not try to zoom in on it with my thumb and forefinger like some zombie weirdo who has forgotten what reality is.
I want to look at my dog and maybe even take a picture of his cute face while he dreams about squirrels, probably, and not send it in a Snapchat or post it as an Instagram story and just kiss him on the head and let that be that.
I want to say, “Yes, I totally heard that monsoon warning siren today,” when my boyfriend gets home to make smalltalk instead of looking up from my phone screen and/or computer screen and realize my eyeballs hurt and I didn’t know it was dark out?
I want to have a day where I participate in the whole day, even if it is mind-numbingly boring the first time and the second and the fifteenth and the fortieth.
I want to wake up and grab the notebook from the top drawer of my nightstand to write down the dream I had instead of making a compulsory scroll from weather app to email app to Instagram to gym class schedule to Google Calendar back to Instagram as I dismiss three alarms that are desperately asking me to get my ass up and live my life.
I want to say I’m going to write for a whole day, and then do it and do it well.
I want to know what my brain even can do when it’s not constantly cracked out by considering every mind-numbing headline from millisecond to millisecond.
“How to make the perfect smoothie.”
“Ukrainians who have fled recount war horrors.”
“Which celebrity hat are you?”
“Maybe it’s Maybelline or maybe it’s childhood trauma.”
I can’t.
A few months back, I found a feature in my phone that allows you to place time limits on certain apps and have an alert pop up when you are nearing your limit. Similar to Netflix’s “Are You Still Watching, You Piece of Shit?” feature, but less aggressive and not at all a rude surprise, since you, having decided you are in fact a POS, set it up for yourself.
I tried this feature for a week or so, but it did not work at all because I set the time limits for myself. Which meant, guess what??
I kept increasing the time limits.
Because, duh.
I don’t think it’s worth comparing my social media use with anyone else’s to try and objectively determine what a “problem” is. My screentime typically averages about three hours a day, which may sound low to some and horrifying for others.
The point is, I don’t like it, and I don’t want to keep doing it, so I’m going to try and not do it.
This post is meant to serve multiple purposes. First, to hopefully speak to something that others may feel too - I know I feel less alone when I read that someone else also nearly shit their pants on a road trip after too many junky car snacks while her boyfriend laughed and her sister led lamaze-type breathing exercises from the backseat in desperate solidarity.
Just me? Whatever, you’re boring.
Secondly, this post is a blanket request for my friends to send me pictures directly when their baby does something cute or they have a personal milestone or funny story they think I’d like or bad news that I’d want to support them in. I don’t want my social media sobriety trial to mean I don’t get invited to the party at all. I love my friends.
Finally, this post is a note to myself that while I hate committing to things that might suck but might also be good for me (going to the gym, flossing every night instead of just using Listerine and lying to my dentist, going to the gym, and wearing both my top and bottom nightguard instead of just one or the other….I have dental problems…), it still feels like the right move right now.
I won’t be disappearing from the whole internet, so if you’d like to keep receiving my work (pinky out), you can subscribe to my email list where I send out musings and new posts on Mondays, but not every Monday because you know, commitment.
Wish me well on this hiatus that I secretly hope lasts forever.
I love you, I’ll miss you, don’t forget about me (A Dear Instagram letter).
Yours detoxing,
Emily Rose // Miss Magnolia
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