Okay, first let’s get this straight: I’m absolutely a nobody in the over-crowded galaxy of A-listers, YouTube stars, influencers, semi-influencers, and the regular users who can’t be easily categorized, despite those blue checks.
Yet, I do have requirements when it comes to the coherency of my timeline, and that wasn’t always the case.
Like most newbies, following and being followed was the unrelenting obsession that took dark turns, when purchasing more bots than humans was considered a harmless activity that would pay off with numerical abundance.
Believe me when I say that turning down those options was the only choice available based on the desire to retain a level of discipline with unpredictable components of a massive playground, that hosts normalized chaos and mayhem at the expense of shedding our humaneness.
It was also my lack of entrepreneurial skills that prevented the visuals of the long-term goals, that worked out incredibly well for those who were built for the immense burden of living #bestlives.
A little over a decade later, there are three things that are undeniably true about my social engagement:
Deleting Facebook was the lifesaving decision, initiated in the nick of time. Twitter and Instagram are the guilty pleasures worth the priceless amusement. Twitter is also the trap door that none of us want to escape — despite being enveloped in active threats.
The one aspect that has been drastically revised is the nonsensical tendency to follow for the sake of following, and the expectations of what that could mean when good luck strikes.
I definitely was the engager who proved to be a nuisance to the few, who got their blue crowns early on in the game. I joined the gang of users who mercilessly hijacked as many prized handles as possible, in the hopes that one of them might give a shit about my tweets and links.
Of course that dream was never realized — and for good reason.
The best way to not get the attention you want is to be a buzzing pest, demanding validation that you think you’ve earned. I know this because when the roles were reversed, depending on the situation, and the method of coercion, there was the instinct to look the other way.
For obvious reasons, my cautious engagement is really about the decreased desire to blindly follow verified profiles, as if it’s the rule of law that can’t be revised, until maybe you successfully attain verification.
A couple of years ago, I sought out those privileges with one foot in and the other hanging with doubt, and sure enough, I was denied, not just once, but twice!
I wrote a thing or two about it, blasting the interference of a questionable hierarchy that started off as the vital tool to combat the rapid rise of fake celebrity accounts that were good enough to be the real thing.
Getting verified by social media platforms was the only way A-listers who were more prone to the virus of imposters, rapidly setting up profiles with images and information, could effectively authenticate themselves with the blue symbol for added measure.
Of course, that inevitably expanded beyond the original mission statement into murky territory, that has made a mockery of what being verified means, and why it’s probably not the best indicator of what that status is professed to represent in all its studded glory.
Fucking Donald Trump Jr. and his bullish father are recipients for crying out loud!
Along with a roster of social disrupters, who are able to voraciously spread their packaged poison without getting permanently booted off.
I won’t keep trying for what’s beyond my reach, but the ongoing task is to cleanup accumulated debris from past engagements in an effort to reset the tone for an uncertain future.
The tempo picked up after the unplanned nightmare of a global pandemic, and the indefinite halt to life as we knew it.
It’s obvious that the ramifications from sudden joblessness and reliance on unsteady assistance from the federal government, that continues to undergo debates about whether or not the needy deserve to live or die,sadly has created a glaring division between the haves and have nots.
Those earlier signs manifested through the toxicity of celebrity culture.
We can’t deny how the rich and famous are righteously as self-obsessed and self-indulgent as we imagined them to be, even as legions of less fortunate fans are forced to “like” and “comment” their approvals in the midst of their own personal catastrophe.
Self-care has taken on a whole new meaning than before, when it quickly became the viral sensation of trendsetters, embarking on the wellness trip with brand sponsorships in tow,
Taking care of your body and spirt can involve regular meditation, adapting a cleaner diet, regular workouts and enough sleep that’s detached from mobile devices.
There’s also the exercise of getting rid of attachments that were either selected or self-invited.
And in this case, it’s definitely not them — it’s me!
It’s the intensity behind choosing the design of my timeline without compromising in an effort to fulfill the obligation of mandatory following for the sake of close proximity to what doesn’t exist.
Unfollowing is the recommended cleanse that rejuvenates for a healthier view.
It’s refreshing to be left with what you didn’t know you needed, until you couldn’t accommodate yet another posting, that violates your empathy for the current reality, which must at the very least be respected for its weightiness.
We are not never returning to whatever normal was, and while that sobering reality has managed to elude those who can afford it, it doesn’t mean I have to be deluged with the evidence of what can send me in a tailspin of resentment and disillusionment.
Pictures are worth a thousand words, and words can really sting.
Call it envy or irritation, or the sensitive nerves that can no longer handle the sting from heaps of salt on wounds that can’t heal, it all leads to the realization that choosing to disconnect from erratic vibes is as personal as it gets.
Who has time anymore to engage with humans who might as well be badly programmed bots?
It’s unapologetic and it’s necessary; plus there are no hard feelings at all.
Because remember, it’s not you — it’s ALL ME.