There are certainly far more important topics to cover than social media, but I’ve had some thoughts on this topic bottled up inside my brain for about a year now and I felt it was a good time to unburden myself of them. Our collective preoccupation with social media may seem pretty innocuous, if not wholly ridiculous, but I feel strongly that it can have some really negative consequences for both mental health and interpersonal relationships.

I’ve gone through periods of time when I get completely jaded with social media and I’ll temporarily deactivate or delete all of my accounts. Part of it is my frustration with my own addictive personality and how I can get so wrapped up in it, but I know I’m not alone in this. 

It can be pretty freeing in some ways to completely ghost from your online life. Last year I deleted all of my social media accounts for six months. All of them. Even LinkedIn, for crying out loud. I was so committed! I was going to be present, dammit! And in a lot of ways, it was the happiest I’d been in a really long time. Correlation does not necessarily equal causation, but the evidence is pretty compelling that if we’re more present in our everyday lives, it pays dividends in the form of happiness and contentment. 

Some of the benefits: Freedom from prying eyes. Less opportunity for judgment. Freedom from bullying cleverly disguised as differences of opinion. Much less exposure to extremist politics or worrying about being politically correct. Fewer interruptions. More focus. Better in-person connections. Freedom from those phone notifications buzzing your thigh every thirty seconds. 

For the most part, it was fantastic. But leaving the online life behind wasn’t without its growing pains. 

As weird as this feels to write publicly, there were some amazing moments and experiences I really wanted to share with the world. I had recently started dating my fiancé and it would’ve been a convenient way for far-flung friends and family to get to know her, if only in a virtual sense. But what I was least prepared for when I quit social media was how it can feel like some people stop caring about you. Scratch that. How it feels to seemingly cease to exist to people with whom you thought you had a stronger connection. 

For instance, just one month off Facebook and the only people who got ahold of me on my birthday were my Mom and my two brothers. No joke. It’s in those moments when you realize who the most important people are in your life, and there’s a pretty good chance they’re not the 200 people who wished you a happy birthday on your Facebook timeline. 

But you know what? After the initial shock of being social media-less wore off, I was probably happier than I’d ever been. It was pretty amazing to actually feel like I was living in the moment—in all of the moments—and not constantly worrying about sharing with the world whatever thing I was doing at the time.

Recently I’ve been feeling the pull toward living without social media again. But one of the biggest deterrents to not going completely rogue is that I’ve got this blog now and it’s difficult enough as it is to get the word out. Hell, you can’t even have a Facebook page for your brand without an actual personal Facebook account. So there’s that. 

But there’s also the 13 years of status updates and photos and memories that I’d rather not have weighing me down anymore. I’d rather focus on myself now and the man I want to be rather than who I was before today. I don’t care what your algorithm says, Facebook. I neither need nor want that memory popping up in my feed every year ad nauseam. 

After some serious thought, my solution has been to compromise. I deleted my Facebook account that I’ve had since 2004. I’ve started clean, scaled back the friends list to a manageable level, and I plan to nurture those online relationships that are the most enduring, meaningful and mutually supportive.

A few weeks ago, I spent some much needed rest and relaxation in my home state of Michigan. Not only was it good for the soul to go back in summertime because northern Michigan is a true gem, it was an opportunity for me to introduce my partner to family and to show her some of the prettier parts of the state since she had only been to Flint (no offense, Flintstones). Besides, I was starting to get a little bit bitter about spending all of my vacation time on frigid Christmas holidays.

One of the biggest things I miss about home are the lakes. Their beauty and charm are ubiquitous to natives, but vague and seemingly pretty dull to a lot of people I’ve met in the west. Shar, upon seeing Lake Michigan for the first time, said:

I forgive her. In my experience, west coast natives have a terrible sense of geography for anything east of the Rockies. I don’t blame them. There’s just too much going on out here geographically speaking to care much about what’s going on back east. But I still like surprising people who don’t know any better with a trip to Sleeping Bear or the like. 

Here in the west, there is the ocean and the mountains, all of which provide stunningly gorgeous scenery. I’m continually in awe of it all and their novelty hasn’t worn off yet. But there’s just something about the Great Lakes and the thousands of inland lakes in Michigan that give summer a different feel than what I’ve experienced here in the northwest. It’s peaceful and relaxing, and it seems like every other person or their family member has a cottage or second home on or near a lake of some sort. It is engrained in the culture of the place. 

With the lakes come quaint lakeside villages and towns. It seems like they’re everywhere. Tourists flock to them in the warmer months, bringing much needed commerce. I don’t see the same thing here in Oregon or Washington. The major cities are amazing, dynamic places, but there just aren’t that many historic little towns to escape to. It’s pretty sad, actually. 

But having lived in Michigan for 34 years, moving away, and then heading home for a week or two at a time as a tourist gives me some perspective. Those little towns, as comforting as they may be, are depressing places for most of the year, especially for some of the people who live there. There may be a few of them that can survive on skiers or snowmobilers bringing in some tourism dollars, and maybe a couple places have capitalized on being port cities, but there really isn’t much going on in terms of vibrant economies. Truth be told, I can romanticize them all I want, but they probably wouldn’t be great places to live full-time. Even if you’re lucky enough to be of retirement age with a substantial savings, chances are you’re a snowbird. 

I don’t think the reasons for this situation have very much to do with the seasons changing. I think it has more to do with how their economies are structured, and more importantly, how we’ve chosen to structure our national economy — including allowing the middle class to shrink and the gap between the rich and poor widen.

There seem to be two schools of thought out there, both of which I think live in their own little myopic bubbles, yet both have truth to them. On the one side, people claim there would be better paying jobs if only we shopped locally – ‘SHOP MAIN STREET!’ they cry. A well-intentioned philosophy with some truth to it. The other argument is that if good-paying jobs weren’t shipped overseas and we didn’t make such little money, we could afford to support good local businesses. People would use their higher incomes to purchase goods in the local economy if there were better paying jobs, which would support still other jobs, etc. Again, well intentioned, but not the full story. The macro and the micro have to be taken into consideration together.

I’m very pro community and economic development and want to see local economies thrive. However, what bothers me the most about the ‘Shop Local’ movement is how some adherents to this philosophy seem to ignore the macroeconomics at play that are completely and utterly stacked against Main Street and the working classes. These days, ‘Shop Local’ is a privileged movement for middle to upper income people. 

People shop at Walmart and Amazon and Walgreens because their budgets are squeezed, not because they don’t like Uncle John’s TV and Electronics Shop. And why shouldn’t they? Who am I to judge the working class family who shops at Walmart so they can scrimp and save to put their kids through college? They’re just working within the confines of the economic environment they’ve found themselves stranded in, where once vibrant and thriving economies have long since disappeared. Sure, people probably buy way too much shit. Big screen TVs, cell phones, unnecessary automobiles. You name it. But if the primary sectors of the economy in which our middle class was built are shipped off to places with cheap labor and little to no environmental standards, how can you expect them to spend what little disposable income they have on local shops? And I can assure you that spending money at Uncle John’s TV and Electronics Shop is not going to create any middle class jobs save for perhaps John. Maybe. 

What our downtowns in small places have become are caricatures of their former selves and the play things for people who are well off. Take a look around the next time you’re in one of those places. There’s an ice cream shop and a few trinket shops hawking tourist goods like M-22 shirts and bumper stickers. But the majority of businesses in so-called thriving places are full of breweries and restaurants. As great as these things are — I literally had the best burger of my life at 7 Monks in Traverse City — these are the only types of businesses that can’t be outsources. Yet. And it’s not because people particularly enjoy spending $15 on a hamburger (usually). They’re doing it for the convenience, but more importantly they’re doing it because they like the atmosphere or the experience.

These things are privileges, unlike the days when there was only one appliance repair shop in town and you knew the owner by name. The days when a diverse downtown full of businesses providing necessary goods and services was a way of life.

As far as I know, there currently is no way efficiency, automation, or logistics can make a burger-eating experience more enjoyable. However, is it very difficult to imagine some not-so-distant future where people spend most of their time in their homes on virtual reality headsets attached to their phones while all of their food is delivered via Uber Eats? Is it that far-fetched when people can order all of their household goods from Amazon by simply saying the word “Alexa – I need toilet paper”? What would happen to our downtowns then? 

There used to be businesses of all varieties, but those peddling everyday products and services can’t compete anymore and they’re not coming back. Totally gone the way of the buffalo. Should we be ashamed of this? In my personal opinion, yes, but that’s not why I’m writing this. What’s done is done. But what I would like to see is the locals acknowledge that “buying local” is a privileged perspective and that good-paying jobs are not in retail or restaurants. Any “buy local” campaign should be coupled with a strong economic development plan that goes beyond redeveloping or promoting Main Street. 

There are other benefits to buying local. In my opinion, they are namely the positive impacts that retail and food industry jobs have on historic preservation, and the psychological and community impacts of living in a place that is vibrant at street level. These can, in some circumstances, attract larger economic drivers—sometimes even in small tourist towns. But this is not possible everywhere and let’s not continue to fool ourselves about the economic reality on the ground for most people when we talk about the importance of buying local.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how a change in environment, whether physical or social, can cause people who might otherwise work together toward common goals to be at odds with one another. Sometimes these changes are caused by things beyond our control such as a natural disaster, but sometimes they are by design in order to keep us distracted from larger goals. 

One of the most interesting courses I took in college was an anthropology class on ancient civilization. We learned about Mesopotamia and Ancient Egypt, both part of what was known as the Fertile Crescent. What struck me was how these societies, despite their proximity to one another, evolved so differently. How was it that the Egyptians lived in relative peace for so long while Mesopotamia had so many warring tribes and no real semblance of unity? The difference, it is thought, has a lot to do with the rivers of the region.

The Nile, on the one hand, has always been pretty predictable in its course. Ancient Egyptians built their civilization upon its predictability, and because they were able to rely on it to irrigate their crops and provide water for basic needs, they built one of the greatest civilizations in history. Their society certainly was not without its problems, but it was relatively stable because the river’s course stayed true, and the region prospered for it. Economic wealth was certainly funneled up the chain of command, but people were generally able to provide for their livelihoods. On the other hand, the Tigris and Euphrates were not so reliable, and civilization there evolved very differently. These rivers have changed their courses many times over the millennia, and this fact had major impacts on the people of Mesopotamia. 

Imagine trying to farm alongside a river that periodically changed its course. In an arid region, irrigation is essential, so if you suddenly weren’t able to grow crops for your family, or if your community became extremely food insecure, it’s easy to imagine the stress this would cause. These periodic shifts in the courses of the rivers caused a lot of strife and wars to break out between different groups of people who fought for access to the waters. Although today the region’s problems are incredibly complex, there are some anthropologists who even argue that these rivers played such an important role in the region that their irregular courses and the strife this caused centuries ago laid the groundwork for the culture of conflict that exists in the Middle East to this day.

This may seem like a big leap, but I think the situation above is relatable to our modern lives and the political climate we are currently experiencing. Most of us in the U.S. may not have to worry so much about war, genocide, or a river shifting its course on us. At least not in a literal sense. But millions of Americans struggle with poverty and economic hardship within a quickly changing system that is very much the equivalent to a those shifting rivers in ancient times. It frightens me to think about our social safety net dissolving, and the resulting chaos that could ensue. What’s sad is that I feel like sometimes, because of my privilege (perceived or real), that people view me as an enemy instead of an ally. I am a white male who is approaching middle age and I live a comfortable lifestyle. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have something to contribute to the betterment of society. 

As an adult, I didn’t have what I would consider a middle class life until I was about 30, but I did have a social safety net. I had a family who backed me up, provided support when they could, and I had many luxuries by the very virtue of that sturdy ground my family relationships provided. I was lucky, even before I account for the privileges my race and gender afford me. I know that even the fact that I was able to go to school, fail, and go back again (twice if you count my master’s degree) was an enormous privilege. As hard as it was to succeed at times, I know countless people did not have the same opportunities that I did, and I’m grateful for those I did have. Yet for someone as reflective and socially minded as I am (if I do say so myself), I struggle at times with accepting my privilege.

Sometimes it’s hard to admit how good I really had it. Sometimes I get angry when people assume that I had everything handed to me or that I didn’t have to work for what I have. Like my hard work wasn’t really work at all because of my privilege. I have to try hard to keep myself calm and not get personally offended when people assume I didn’t struggle because of my race or gender. 

Sometimes I fail miserably and lose sight of the larger goals of social justice in the face of defending my personal circumstances. I fail at times in formulating my ideas and in communicating my feelings with others. But I do take people’s opinions to heart and try to understand their perspectives and hardships. I recognize my own shortcomings, for the most part, and know I still need to work on them. But, in my experience, the social justice warriors certainly don’t make it easy to be on their team, either. 

I think what bothers me most is the condescending tone from many people who are social justice-oriented. It bothers me a lot, despite me believing in and supporting many of the ideas they espouse and the policies they support. It feels bad to have my motives questioned when I share a differing opinion, like my actions are worth less than my words despite having worked 10 years in the affordable housing industry, for instance. To have my character questioned and my perspectives minimized simply because of my privilege does not feel good. 

Make no mistake: I believe that all people should have similar footing and predictable ground on which to build a life and not be damned at birth by whatever station they were born into, or by their race or gender or sexual preference or anything else for that matter. Everyone should have a place where they have an opportunity to thrive and provide for themselves and their families. Furthermore, I think sometimes the only means we have in capitalism to provide those opportunities is through social programs. 

I am angered and scared and saddened by the current administration and the potential for its policies to reek havoc on disadvantaged people from all walks of life. I’m scared for the people I serve at my job and what the future holds for some of them. I feel the swell of emotions and the fear is palpable. But my biggest fear of all is that the alienating language of social justice advocates to the ears of the majority will be counterproductive to the cause and we won’t get anything done. 

I don’t pretend to have a solution, and I don’t mean to minimize the rage of the oppressed and less fortunate. Hell, if you’re NOT angry, then you’re not paying attention. But I feel like most people won’t listen if they feel alienated. Would you? This is anecdotal, but I feel like the last election was indicative of that. There were other things at play, not least of which was misogyny. But I know a lot of progressive people who felt alienated by the Democratic campaign because it felt like a war was being waged against them because of their privilege. 

We have to do better and that starts with, at very least, acknowledging those who are on our own team, and then having more productive and respectful conversations with each other. Let’s not allow these assholes to change the course of the river in order to divide and conquer. If we do, we’ll have a lot more to deal with than just having a Cheeto-faced clown for another four years. We’ll have another swamp to drain.