Ah, Facebook. Everyone uses it. And everyone uses it differently.
Here’s how I use it: to promote my gift blog, Find A Toad. I have a modest (but growing) number of fans, and I get decent feedback, way more than I received just by my mere existence on the blogosphere. I often use it as what I term “shameless self-promotion” for my other writing projects. I also use it to keep in touch with all sorts of friends and acquaintances from past and present. These are not my best friends. Half of my really good friends don’t even use Facebook. Plus, I see those really good friends all the time, so they can find out my “status” simply by speaking to me (hey, it’s old-fashioned, but talking still works). No, I use it to stay in touch with people from college, friends from high school, or people in the neighborhood and community. I might never speak to them on the phone or visit them in person, but it’s lovely to find out that they’re doing well.
Usually.
That “usually” is the reason why some of my good friends refuse to go on Facebook. They don’t trust that they won’t be found by, say, an ex-boyfriend or childhood nemesis. They don’t want to relive history. They say they have no time, but they really have no desire to put themselves in such a vulnerable position. And they’re not wrong.
This fear of unwanted visitations from the past isn’t unfounded. I have a policy of not friending any ex-boyfriends. I just don’t think any good comes of it. That, however, doesn’t prevent those ex-boyfriends from doing a search and sending friend requests, or becoming a fan of my blog and leaving comments (nice ones, thankfully, but it was still slightly creepy). These online close encounters are almost always uncomfortable, especially since it usually ends, after a pleasant enough email exchange, with a friend request yet again that I have to politely ignore.
Perhaps the strangest thing about Facebook, though, is the fact that there are ghosts. My best friend from college never joined Facebook; she liked her anonymity, and felt that Facebook would be invasive. I always respected that. Tragically, she went through a horrific depressive breakdown that ended in her suicide. She left behind two young boys and a husband, plus countless friends and family members. It was shocking and terrible. But what I found equally shocking was the tribute Facebook page and group created in her honor. In life, she wouldn’t have touched Facebook with a ten-foot pole, but in death, without her permission, she’s on there, smiling.
