Another Song for Sharon

A friend of mine had a baby this week.  Actually, three friends had babies this week and another announced a pregnancy.  This was all on social media, of course, nobody mails a birth announcement anymore.  We could not do without the instantaneous praise and celebration nor the bear the anticipation of such a deliberate delivery.

A friend of mine announced she had a baby this week.  I was not completely surprised; it was about time for the next one.  She has a home in the rural suburbs, complete with a garden, chickens, and guard dog.  The couple wanted a lot of children.  Now they have them and perhaps another or two.

If the announcement had come, I suppose, in the mail, or even email, as the last one did, a personalized statement with an intended recipient, I could not say my reaction would be wholly different but perhaps more indifferent.  But the announcement was made on social media, to an audience of hundreds, and there was no indication this was in the works.  That is, I had no idea she was expecting.  In fact, I still have not seen the last child.

I am not sure what to do with this information.  Social media is a purveyor of useless information or sometimes useful but cumbersome.

We have known each other for nearly twenty years and although not the best of friends we were dear friends.  We achieved milestones at roughly the same time:  Graduating from college, moving in with our boyfriends, getting married during snowstorms, and enjoying such a timeless age.  But at the point she delivered her first child, my home life was unraveling, although I had no idea it was so.  When she purchased a foreclosed house to turn into that mushaboom dream home, I was in the process of moving out of my beloved country home on the water because a heartless drifter foreclosed on my dream.  Since then I have moved from one lake or river or reservoir to the next in such a manner, as Joni Mitchell sang, "I walk green pastures by and by."

We talk about the childless or the childfree as though they reap some sort of bonus life full of decadence, spendthrifts of time.  The benefits we reap include:  Sleeping through the night and in on the weekends, travel, parties, disposable incomes, spontaneous sex, and the endless pursuit of our own agendas, goals, and dreams.

But I knew with Sharon, as with most of my friends who started families, they eventually fly away into their own domesticity, like crows on an electric line.  They neatly separate into the Middlesex* clique, stay-at-home types who pedal direct sale cosmetic products for extra income, the Tupperware of our generation, drink grocery store wine, marble countertops, and refer to their spouses as "hubby".  Then there those like Sharon, aspiring farmers or crafters, with dozens of half-complete DIY projects, failed recipes at the dinner table, but hearty and nutritious.

Then there is one less phone number to dial for lunch or a double-date.  In fact, spending three hours over coffee with a single woman in her thirties who rents, does not own, never unpacking all the boxes in storage, or even her suitcase, she only stays home one weekend a month, is not so appealing,  so weightless and without an anchor, perhaps even a little frightening how one ends up in such a marvelous and hideous place.

(It's not quite that bad.)

This made me think about social media over all.  With YOLOs and FOMOs, we really are pitted against each other in such a cramped, expansive space.  Social media really fits the bill of capitalism and repackaging and reselling of our wants, needs, and desires.  Now, under the warm roof of collegiality and friendship, we can judge each other, gawk at each other, and measure ourselves to each other.

I wonder what my life would look like without social media, namely Facebook.  The choices and decisions I would make, the story I would tell, my own metrics of a life well-lived.  According to Facebook, I have no hometown, no education, and really no accomplishments to speak of except that I adopted two cats and spend Fridays drinking wine (never from the grocer) and writing my dissertation.

There is so much more to my life.  I just don't offer it up on a platter for consumption.  Those things are to be cherished and enjoyed, not managed and published.

Another friend of mine quit social media a year ago.  She too is a recent PhD recipient and single for similar happenstances.  As she put it to me, "If I saw one more ultra-sound photo. . ."  It really goes back to a Carrie Bradshaw quote (as awful as I find that program):  "Think about it. If you are single, after graduation there isn’t one occasion where people celebrate you. … Hallmark doesn’t make a 'congratulations, you didn’t marry the wrong guy' card. And where’s the flatware for going on vacation alone?"

So I would like to quit.  Take the whole thing down.  I always write about doing it.  It menaces each time I "post" a status update.

But then I think about my friends in far places, Japan, Dubai, England, Rwanda, Germany, Korea, and places closer, Pittsburgh, New York, San Francisco, Dallas.  A telephone call every so often or email will not suffice.  I want a photograph, a meme, an off the cuff remark.

I am not sure what I will end up doing, for now Twitter satisfies my news stream and blogs to peer into the lives of others.  There is also "Indian Summers", documentaries, unmastered languages, and yes, the dissertation.