Lately I find myself longing for an ordinary life.
On any given day, we all face so much pressure to be extraordinary. Social media scrolling can give us a case of the “less-thans”, the news entices us to drink, the job market feels hopeless and we wonder if we are doing enough to stand out from the crowd and be noticed.
It’s bloody exhausting.
I just finished reading Mark Manson’s book The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. So many of his ideas resonated on a deep level, offering a lovely echo chamber of my own curated thoughts, but the section on being ordinary was particularly timely. If you are looking for a short, profane and meaningful read, I highly recommend it.
What if we simply opted out of trying to be amazing and instead learned to be content with being good enough? As our world gets louder, I long for quiet. When other people broadcast their accomplishments around the clock on social media, I yearn for humility and privacy.
It’s okay to want less. To decide that who you are and what you accomplish doesn’t need national (or even local) acclaim. Wouldn’t it be lovely to just exist, in our own families and with our friends, and truly believe that everything we eat, say, do, watch, read and think does not belong on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or a blog?
Something interesting is happening in our culture right now, with the attention on Zuckerberg and questions about privacy. For years I’ve been saying in my digital boundary presentation (and to anyone else who cares) that privacy is going to be our most valuable currency in the years to come. I believe it to the core of my soul.
So the question becomes: what are we doing to safeguard our own privacy? How do we take back control of our own unique and precious lives?
I’m bone weary of wasting my time on the crack cocaine of social media. I post less and less but I still scroll far too much. I’m afraid of what’s coming and I’m trying to summon the courage to close it down and walk away. I know I would be happier if I did exactly that but then how would I stay in touch with people? How would readers find me as a writer?
I’m not sure those fears outweigh the cost of what social media has done to my sense of identity, my jealousy over the success of others when I am struggling, my own raging insecurities that leap to the forefront when I give myself over to something that has the power to repeatedly hurt me.
The answer is not yet clear to me, but I’m committed to asking these questions until I decide what’s really best for me. How do the rest of you handle social media and your digital lives? I know I’m not alone in longing for an ordinary, private existence. I’d love to hear from you.