Chapter 3 #2
“I’ve heard that it makes people more stressed and anxious.”
“That is also true.”
“So you’re not on social media at all?”
He’s got a really interesting way of looking at me. Like there’s a weight to his regard. Like, when he can drag himself away from his books, he really sees me. Like I’m significant.
I’m not used to men looking at me that way.
“Not at all,” he says softly. “I only begrudgingly do email.”
That makes me snort-laugh again. I really wish I could stop that. “Are there any explanations for why social media makes us feel like crap?”
“Of course. Most of them revolve around the fact that social media triggers parts of our brain that excite us without providing any real substance to the excitement. It makes us feel like important things are happening when they’re not.
It generates feelings of satisfaction when we’re actually producing nothing.
It evokes an empty sense of connection to community without real community, in fact often separating us from real community.
In studies of joy, one of the themes throughout history is that true joy usually happens within community.
Real community. Not the artificial jolts of brain chemicals we get from social media.
But it feeds those parts of our minds just enough that we stop seeking what we truly need to live content, satisfied lives. ”
I sit down in a chair across from him, leaning forward with the feather duster in one hand. “So what do philosophers and sociologists say is the answer?”
“The obvious. Cut back on the amount of time we spend online. Use it as a tool rather than using it for stimulation. Learn to focus again on longer-form art and storytelling. Get out in nature and move our bodies with nothing but our own minds for company. Stop seeking to fill every moment with distractions. Invest in friendships. Spend time with people and not machines.”
“I think that’s easier said than done for most of us.”
“Of course.” He looks back down at his article like he’s going to start reading again but then glances back up. “I haven’t noticed you with a phone.”
“I try not to use it as a crutch while I’m working. It really does slow down the speed at which I can work, and I try to be observant to the needs of a household and not let myself get distracted.”
“That’s wise of you. But I also didn’t see you on your phone when you were walking yesterday.”
I had no idea he saw me walking. He must have gotten up and glanced out the window at the right time.
“No. I mean, I did have it with me, but it kind of defeats the point of taking a walk in a beautiful place if all you’re doing is staring down at your phone.”
“Yes. It does.” He gives me another searching look. “So you like it here?”
“Are you serious? I love this place. If I could have designed a house and placed it in a perfect location, I might have ended up with this exact home.”
I say the words without thinking, but then I catch myself, wondering if they sound too intimate or entitled. Maybe he’ll think I’m hinting at something inappropriate.
He doesn’t appear wary or uncomfortable. His expression is still as serious as ever, but it seems to have softened slightly. “I’m glad you appreciate it. It’s a special spot.”
“Yes. It really is.” I smile at him sincerely. “And I hope you won’t judge me when I admit that I do have a few social media accounts.”
“I know. I found them.”
“What?”
“When Colleen recommended you, I did research on you of course. I saw them then. A lot of photos of closets and pantries with organizational tips. But they didn’t appear to be your purpose for living, and you never post on your clients, so I wasn’t troubled by what I found.”
Damn it. I snort again. “That’s good to know. I would hate to trouble you by failing to forsake all forms of social media for the good of my mind.”
“At least you’re capable of sustaining a conversation for more than five minutes without checking your phone.
Colleen has a cleaning crew come in twice a month to do the heavy work,” he says.
“I’m not exaggerating when I tell you most of the young people can’t go more than two minutes without a quick look. Their phones might as well be drugs.”
I giggle and shake my head at him.
“What have I said now?” he asks, clearly recognizing that he’s the source of my amusement.
“You said young people as if you’re an octogenarian. You can’t be more than sixty.”
That last bit was on purpose. And it’s rewarded by his response.
“Sixty?” He frowns and stiffens. “I’m fifty-two.” When I can’t restrain more giggles, he sighs and shakes his head at me again. “I see. Having some fun at my expense?”
“It just feels like someone needs to do it.” I stand up with my duster. “And meeting my clients’ needs is what I’m here for. I’m good at my job. I’ll leave you to your reading now, but don’t forget about your smoothie.”
He hasn’t even touched it yet, but he looks over in surprise and picks it up.
He’s downing it in several swallows as I leave the library.