Dear John: A Breakup Letter to Social Media
The first time I rage-quit socials was about ten years ago, when I realized I was thinking about how I would post about an event as I was experiencing it. I was in a park with two of the dearest people in my life before leaving for Air Force basic training, and rather than soaking up the time with them, I was mentally drafting a caption. That was not how I wanted to live.
Me in 2016, realizing social media was a distraction even when I wasn’t online.
During the pandemic, when I suddenly found myself with too much time to waste online, I set a boundary that began as “Facebook-Free Fridays” and eventually evolved into “Facebook Fridays.” For the last several years, I’ve only opened social media apps on Fridays. I see what people are up to, admire the vacations and the offspring, send a funny meme or two, and pack it in until next week.
Then I did my Alexander Technique teacher training and followed all the advice — from teachers, mentors, and no shortage of influencers — about how to market a business through social media.
But here’s the thing: I can’t market my business on social media without constantly being on social media. The platforms are designed to reward endless engagement. You’ll succeed, they say, as long as you use our platform more and more and more.
I’m not a content factory. I didn’t leave the Air Force to tie myself to another system of shoulds and have-tos. And I refuse to run the “how will I post about this?” mental filter over my teaching or my life.
A mentor asked me recently, “How are you going to have a marketing strategy without social media, pray tell?”
Well…
I studied music without knowing where it would take me or how I’d make a living.
I decided to leave the Air Force with no way of knowing what the political or economic climate would be when I got out.
I spent a fellowship at Amazon networking my way into nonprofit jobs because, while a foot in the door is a great opportunity, Amazon wasn’t a door I wanted to walk through.
We rarely know what’s next. But with a few revolutions around the sun, we might get lucky enough to know what we value.
Today, I value:
Being fully present in my life and in my teaching
Communicating thoughtfully and leaving room for uncertainty
Leaning into power, gratitude, and enough-ness
I recently read the words of a twentieth-century philosopher who claimed Western society had traded religious certainty for scientific certainty. I wonder if, today, we’ve traded both for social media certainty—where ten-second reels and clickbait headlines shape how we communicate, how we pick sides, and how we feel safe.
I choose to be unsure. And curious. And present.
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