Time Travel in the Modern World
For the past few months, I’ve been a metaphysical time traveler, walking around in my middle-aged body with the confidence of my teenage self (with wrinkles AND pimples (WHY AM I STILL BREAKING OUT?)). I’m Stewart Smiley in reverse, feeling as if I’m not enough of any of the things. The only reason I’m not locking myself in the bathroom to cry it out at 3 PM every day is because of experience, maturity, and therapy (years of therapy).
This mighty trifecta has gifted me with a myriad of coping strategies, but even with walks and sunshine, daily exercise, journaling, conversations with loved ones, and an antidepressant, I still feel as if I’m just coasting through life in a torrent of mediocrity. I have enough wisdom now to identify and unpack why my brain has tricked me into believing nothing is coming up Rachael (total lies) and one major contributing factor is social media.
I’m a writer, and my debut memoir, Second Set Chances, releases through Vine Leaves Press next April. (My lifelong dream of becoming a published writer is happening, and yet I’m still riddled with these craters of (faux?) inferiority. Something needs to change.) I’m trying to build my audience and gain readers in anticipation of my pub date, which means amassing a social media empire and getting a few of my short stories published in some big-name magazines and journals. The problem is, I’m baby stepping, no, snail sliding my way to both.
Gaining followers is absolutely soul-sucking. I’ll enjoy the quick dopamine bursts of a like or comment on what I think is an engaging post, but then, when it doesn’t receive as much attention as I anticipated, I doom scroll, obsessing over similar accounts that garner more interest than mine. My story submissions are receiving rejections like a cornered boxer getting punches to the face; I frantically read other writers’ published works (posted on social media), studying their words and trying to figure out what my stories are missing. Both are pummeling my ego. I can’t help but compare myself to others, to the artists with thousands of loyal fans and the writers with the fancy bylines, and it’s thieving me of my own accomplishments and bleeding into all areas of my life.
I’ve decided to add another strategy to my arsenal of “feel good” moves, something I’ve never ever done before: a social media vacation. I’ve tried to set limits on my Facebook and Instagram usage in the past, but my compulsive fingers couldn’t stop reaching for the screen. I’ve learned from that. Out of sight, out of mind, I’ve deleted the apps from my phone. Six days later, I’m holding strong and wondering how long I’ll keep this strike going for. While I don’t have an answer yet, I can guarantee that I’m back on the Gram if you're reading this. How else would you have heard about my website if I didn’t post it on social media?
So, how does one find a balance in a world with such omnipresence? I can’t be a writer and expect to sell books or have people read my stories without it, but utilizing social media crushes my self-esteem. If anyone has found the answer to this modern-day riddle, I’m here for it, all ears and listening.
Update: Monday, May 20: Ok, I’ve peeked on Facebook a tiny bit, but only to see if Renewal, Billy Strings’ annual festival in Buena Vista, CO, has been announced yet. It hasn’t, and, once on FB, I commenced scrolling for about 5 minutes, 3 separate times. High on my priority list for my therapy session tomorrow is to come up with a boundaries plan for social media.
Update: Friday May 24: With a plan in place, I am going to make my way back to social media. I requested book recommendations in a Facebook group and am honored my boundaries since posting that. I am going to monitor my usage and head space for the next few days, and then hopefully, more of you are reading this, as this means I started spreading the word about my website on all the groups. :) If so, thanks for your support and thanks for reading.
