"In the next year I want to share more. More blogs, more stories, another book to release, and of course the videos of what I am doing in my home." - Sean Parker, October 2020
So, none of that actually happened, and if I'm being honest here (and you know about my penchant for honesty), no one writing or reading this is surprised either. To me, what's funny about that sentence is how totally and completely I rebelled against the idea of sharing more in the year to follow. I first deactivated my Facebook account in November, and subsequently deleted it permanently in July. At the time of deletion, I also deactivated my Instagram account. Part of this move was based on my need to protect my own sanity and interests, and a large part was to focus on my love life.
That of course being the other big "whoopsie!" from the previous blog. I wrote about Andrew and I reconnecting over a long phone call, which a month later turned into regular correspondence. In February I dove into a blog trying to pepper everyone for the possibility we might be getting back together, then I shot my shot in March and watched it sail right past like a led balloon. Then, without warning, by June we were back together. Still are together, in fact. And it's amazing, really, for me to look back with fresh eyes on a year old blog, see how much has shifted and rearranged itself in my life, and to also cap off the last decade with this, my favorite of the series' I've annually written about:
The Ten Year Anniversary for
Musings of a
Self-Proclaimed Author
I feel like it took me a long time to finally understand something about myself when it comes to sharing my life. To get there, it ended up requiring a complete departure from social media, the thing I had so completely and fully embraced from the inception of MySpace and onward. It also meant pulling myself away largely from the blog. Not because I felt like I couldn't write or anything like that, but because I just didn't feel like sharing. You can't just live in the moment and interpret things as they occur if you are constantly looking for an angle to pitch it to the rest of the world.
I've spent years sharing about myself. Call it my ego, or call it a delusional assumption that people cared to read about my life and the antics going on in it. I'll clarify that, real quick, because I do know some people want to know about my life. My family and a few friends, or even the other random two of you reading this right now. Did I ever bring anything astoundingly special to the table? Not really, but I also knew that all along. I think my niche that I fell into was being the everyman, showing what I was going through and working on, figuratively or not, and how I was doing it (or not doing it, as it were).
In the past I received some comments around this habit of mine and how it helped some people. It may have helped with a breakup, to shed light on the emotions of getting rid of your first car, and it may have drawn inspiration in you for projects to work on in your own house, etc. etc. Over the last couple years though I started losing the point in doing this. The past is in the past, but I still was holding on to it like it had never changed. I often look back on 2012 with this strange fondness for how things were, knowing they will NEVER be that way again. All five of my best friends living in the same city, without the cares of rent or a mortgage or children, with nothing but great times ahead? That exists in your mid 20's, not your mid 30's. Mostly.
The reality now of course is that I only really speak with three of those friends anymore, one of them occasionally, and one that I want nothing to do with any longer. I'm on my second mortgage and I've moved across the country twice. I don't live within 5 hours of a best friend, though arguably I have friends here in Minnesota that I feel just as fondly for. The point is that the old version of me is one I still held up on this pedestal and assumed wasn't allowed to change, because how would that affect the brand?
The "brand" of Author Sean Parker, self-proclaimed or not. The image of this individual who at times had become quite bloated in his own self-importance. That's what made the move away from Facebook easy in the first place; I was grossed out by myself and who I had become. I don't think I ever, in the last ten years, posted something without thinking "this'll get likes!" Truly. I wasn't sharing for me, I was sharing for you and to spark a comment or conversation. "Look at how interesting my life is, let's chat about it!" The fact of that matter is that I grew tired of talking about it. At some point I started making the mental shift to posting just to share something with SOMEONE. I was lonely and bored, in a relationship or not, and I just wanted to share things despite not actually wanting to talk about them.
When you get to the point of being annoyed by people bringing up Facebook posts YOU MADE, maybe it's time to step away from making said posts. Instagram came next.
I needed the attention there. I in fact craved it. I remember one of the very first arguments Andrew and I ever had, and it was about me posting on Instagram. Firstly it was that I was posting selfies that I had originally sent to him (because hello, I looked great), and secondly it was that I was hashtagging to my heart's content to get more followers and likes. His question was simple, "who's attention do you need other than mine?" I was so angry about that, because how dare he ask me that? The public NEEDED me, Andrew! They waited on bated breath for my next post, my next brooding selfie, didn't they? I needed to give them what they wanted.
Except they didn't want that... or at least, they weren't asking. I was just supplying.
By the end, I'd amassed 2,100 followers over my tenure on the app. The bulk I didn't know, and I didn't care to know, but they cared to know me and that was what mattered. Not to slap a tag on myself as toxic or anything, but... yes.
After Andrew and I got back together (more on that in another blog, this one is about me, natch), that was when I decided to move away from the 'gram. At first I posted a little goodbye message to my friends and just deleted the app, but about a month in I went back and started deleting people. First I went through the list of those following me and forced them to, y'know, not. That 2,100 was whittled down to 49 people, the ones I was fine with seeing my life if and when I started posting again, and then I made my account private. Then I whittled down the people I myself was following, from like 600 or so to just 44. Then deleted the app again.
In early October I downloaded one more time, and decided to keep it. A few friends noticed that I was watching their stories and said hello, but that was about it. I reached out to a couple other friends just to say "hey" and that I was still alive. But I haven't been liking or commenting on anything, and I haven't been posting, aaaaaaand there is now this weird trepidation in doing so. Weird that my first post in 6 months will be to announce I've written this blog, and thus, am back.
Albeit edited.
I'd like to think in the next year that I'll get back to writing more, but I don't know that. I'd also like to think that I'll post a blog with all of the updates I did here at the Ranch, but I don't know that either. Partly because I really didn't take that many before and after pictures like a real asshole. I do know that I do intrinsically have a need to want to share about my life, but the things I want to share have gotten much more selective over time. It will come back though in some form or another, I'm sure of that.
I thought when I sat down to write the ten year anniversary of this blog that I'd have something more profound to say and share, but I just don't. It's crazy to look back at where I was in 2011 and where I am now, though I'm sure that's something a lot of people could say about their lives. It just is what it is. A year ago I was writing this in solitude, a month shy of getting my massive bitch kidney stone and enduring the Christmas holidays and my birthday alone. It was hard. Today? I am listening to some soft Christmas music while Andrew takes a shower, and then when he is out we will drive north to Duluth for a quick holiday overnight getaway.
I'm happy, and I'm in love, and I sometimes fear this feeling is fleeting for me. But it's a love that keeps me warm, and it certainly is stronger than any I've ever felt before. Especially back in 2011 when I was lost and had no idea who I was or what I wanted to be.
Still don't, but that's what your 30's are for. Ciao for now (c;
