thinking about why i STILL use FB

Say what you will about Facebook - and there is much to say - it continues to be a forum for helping some of us stay connected. I know I'm not saying anything new or creative. It is clear that FB is not used with any regularlity by most folk under 40 and never by those in the Gen Z demographic. So be it - most of my friends, family, and colleagues are Boomers and Gen Xers who live all over creation and still enjoy posting pictures of our children, grandchildren, pets, travel experiences, and the random personal update, too. I confess to enjoying viewing those notes from people I once knew well. Smiles as well as tears happen often each week. And I can't count the times I've learned of births, deaths, divorces, and life achievements through this imperfect platform. 

Reconnecting with high school friends has been wonderful. Two weeks ago I saw the name of a former colleague show up on a friend's post. "Could this be the same person I knew 40 years ago in Costa Rica?" I wondered. And, after a quick note of inquiry on Messenger, a long neglected connection was confirmed. I've been able to reach out to those in distress when I don't have a phone number. I have joined multiple spirituality and the arts groups and native seed gardening sites that daily share small gifts of beauty and wisdom with the world. And how about those Beatles fan clubs that post live concert clips of the Fab Four from fifty years ago? My bed time ritual would not be complete without a quick blast from the past.

What's more, I continue to learn how not to respond to political arguements that require in-person conversations to say nothing of trust and vulnerability. As in most of life, I am a slow learner and have lost more than a few contacts in those early days of FB. Eventually, the sting of cruel words and unkind generalizations suggested that it was best to let hyperbole and zeal roll off my virtual back and disappear into the ethernet. In this regard, FB has been yet another way to practice the Serenity Prayer! To that end, I've found it wise to also give up on snark and fact check more often. This is especially important now in the age of genuinely fake news and QAnon madness. 

Please understand that I have my issues with Facebook. Some creep stole the identity of a beloved friend and caused profound economic and emotional pain. My blog site (when love comes to town) has been officially banned from FB for nearly seven years for some still unknown reason. The FB police have locked me out of making any links to that blogger site. I eventually quit trying to appeal this foolishness and simply repost my reflections on my personal page and add a few of the graphics. (NOTE: If you want to see the real thing, however, you can google it noting its on blogger and called When Love Comes to Town like the U2 song of the same name.) I also hate some of the political and emotional manipulation that crooks and political hacks have come up with to influence our elections and all the rest. As noted, it is a highly imperfect forum but one that still works for me in a limitted and selective way. 

I know that if I want or need to be in touch with younger associates and musicians then texting and/or Instagram is the way to go. Even something as retrograde as an email can do the trick, too. And, shock of all shocks, the phone still has its uses, yes? This poem, American Sonnet, by Billy Collins evokes some of the same truths I've experienced using FB. Like most of the rest of reality, including picture postcards, it ain't perfect but it gets part of the job done.

We do not speak like Petrarch or wear a hat like Spenser
and it is not fourteen lines
like furrows in a small, carefully plowed field

but the picture postcard, a poem on vacation,
that forces us to sing our songs in little rooms
or pour our sentiments into measuring cups.

We write on the back of a waterfall or lake,
adding to the view a caption as conventional
as an Elizabethan woman’s heliocentric eyes.

We locate an adjective for the weather.
We announce that we are having a wonderful time.
We express the wish that you were here

and hide the wish that we were where you are,
walking back from the mailbox, your head lowered
as you read and turn the thin message in your hands.

A slice of this place, a length of white beach,
a piazza or carved spires of a cathedral
will pierce the familiar place where you remain,

and you will toss on the table this reversible display:
a few square inches of where we have strayed
and a compression of what we feel.

(Thanks to my FB friend Pam for her picture of me during a FB livestream event.)