Imagine I told you that I could flat-out solve the problem of staying in touch with the people you care about? I know that you know hundreds of people from different times in your life, and I know that you can’t keep track of their contact information, let alone find time to check in with them periodically. Well I’m going to make it easy for you; I’ll take all the work out of it. I’ll apply my secret powers to serve you as your one and only social information broker. I’ll make information about your friends’ lives flow to you, and I’ll make information about your life flow to them. It’ll be great. You’ll know what they’re up to, all the time, and they’ll know what you’re up to, all the time. But there’s a catch. Without explicitly requiring it, I’m going to encourage you to check in with me a few dozen times a day. Without explicitly demanding it, I’m going to persuade you to dedicate hours and hours of your week to me. And while you’re coming to me for information about your friends, I’m going to show you a few advertisements and notifications. Yes, I’ll let you know how your college classmate’s cancer treatment is going (second round of chemo for Stage IV cancer) but before I tell you that, I’m going to ask you if you want to buy a wristwatch, and after I tell you that I’m going to see if you’re interested in taking a trip to the Bahamas. I’m going to tell you about the death of a beloved former co-worker (tragic heart attack while on vacation) and give you a chance to say something about it, but while you’re grieving, I’m going to flash some notifications in your face (a few people are sending you messages right now, someone else “likes” a joke you made earlier, and I’m still wondering if you want to buy that wristwatch or go to the Bahamas). I’m going to give you a chance to read a friend’s review of a fascinating book about the future of democracy, but while you’re reading that thoughtful and lengthy review, I’m going to give you the opportunity to watch a video of a boxing match, if you prefer; or a video of some models on a catwalk, if you prefer; or a video of cats being silly, if you prefer. I’m going to show you a photo of a beautiful cake that your loving grandmother just baked, but before and after I do that, I’m going to show you some hateful and false things a few of your friends are saying (meanwhile, I hope you’ll consider that wristwatch). And as all this is happening, I’m going to keep careful notes about everything you do and say in my presence. Every time you ask me for more information about something, I’ll make a note of it. Every time you react to something I showed you, I’ll make a note of it. Every time you say something to a friend through me as your broker, I’ll make a note of it. I’m going to take all those notes about you and sell them to some friends of my own who are very curious about you, but don’t worry about them, I assure you they have your best interests at heart. Are you interested in that wristwatch, by any chance?

That’s why I left Facebook. I closed my account on Dec 13, 2019, two days after my Farewell, Facebook post. I was going to keep it open for a few more days but a friend posted a playful comment questioning whether I was really going to leave. I took this as a challenge. Of course, Facebook tries its best to lure users back and doesn’t make an account deletion permanent for thirty days. So I’m still in purgatory as I type this. That’ll end on Jan 12, 2020.

Addendum: the reason why I chose to use a wristwatch ad as an example in this post is because I recently learned the tongue-twister “I wish to wash my Irish wristwatch” and challenged a friend to say it. Shortly after he said it aloud, he started seeing Facebook mobile ads for wristwatches, for the very first time. This suggests a new tongue-twister:

I wish to wish to wash my Irish wristwatch, risking not my wishing’s watched.

 

Dear Friends,

If we were connected on Facebook, I will miss our connection there.

Some of you might remember that my New Year’s resolution for 2019 was to permanently end the exploitative relationship that I’ve had with Mark Zuckerberg since 2009 (hint: I’m not the one who’s been doing the exploiting). I gave myself until December 31, 2019 to close my Facebook account, and that date is rapidly approaching.

I will honor the resolution in the coming days. I will do so with great relief, but also with a sense of loss. I’ll be losing a way to stay in touch with many of the people I care about most, and a way to connect with many of those I’d like to know better. Perhaps I will be losing more than I gain, and certainly it would be easier to cop out and keep my account open, but that’s where resolutions come in handy, and I know I made this one for good reasons.

I’ve been preparing for a while. I’ve seen a lot of people get fed up with Facebook and abruptly close their accounts, an action that I fully understand and support. But I wanted to be more deliberate about my own departure. I wanted to take some time to review my decade of Facebook history, clear it out post by post, and try to preserve a bit of it here on this blog. You can find much of my old Facebook material by clicking here (all of it all has the #facebook tag). I’ve also written a bunch of posts about my departure process. These posts can be found in the Leaving Facebook category on this blog.

How to stay in touch? Since you’re reading this blog, you can of course message or follow me here on WordPress. I have a gmail account and my address follows the format first.last@gmail.com — send me a note. I’ve created an account on MeWe. I’m not sure how much I’ll use it, but it’s there. I’m @rudiseitz on twitter. My music is up on my Bandcamp page and there are a few other tracks on my soundcloud. I’ve got some random photos up on my flickr and a few videos on my youtube. I contribute limericks to OEDILF under the username Rudi, and I once founded a wordplay website called Quadrivial Quandary that’s now somewhat dormant and awaiting a revival. That’s my online presence in a nutshell. I live in East Boston, MA, USA overlooking Boston Harbor and listening to planes take off and land at Logan Airport. If you don’t know me: I’m a self-employed software developer and musician.

Facebook has given me a lot. Thinking only of my musical life, there’s so much. It was through Facebook that I met the collaborator who would perform my canons on harpsichord and clavichord. It was through Facebook that I learned about a Dhrupad retreat with Pandit Nirmalya Dey that I attended in India, leading later to the maestro’s performance in Boston. It was through Facebook that I learned about a workshop on composing with Indian percussion that led me to write a concerto for tabla. And it was through Facebook that I heard of the New England Songwriter’s Retreat with Ellis Paul, the event that made me realize I want to be a songwriter.

Facebook is where I’ve connected with friends and classmates from my distant past and in some cases, where I’ve received in disbelief the first announcement that someone I cared about had passed away. Facebook is where I’ve gotten to witness my friends brainstorming, quipping, sharing intimate thoughts, details of their recent meals, travel adventures, reactions to world events, advice on life and where to get a good drink. Facebook is where I’ve come across the best articles, the best music clips, the best local events. Facebook is where I’ve followed some great and inspiring activism like Warren Senders’ Man With A Sign project to raise awareness about climate change.

But I became paralyzed on Facebook. I couldn’t post anymore without thinking about how my data was being collected, packaged, monetized in ways not transparent. I couldn’t click the “like” button without thinking about how my likes were helping Facebook build a better profile of me, not for my own benefit but for that of third parties unknown to me. I couldn’t scroll around without remembering that Facebook tracks my mouse movements. I couldn’t give myself to Facebook without thinking about how the platform has become a conduit for misinformation and hate. I stopped posting, but I kept reading. And yet it didn’t feel right to see my friends pour their hearts out there while I remained silent, too suspicious of the platform to engage with even their most impassioned posts. It was time for me to leave. It is time for me to leave. I’ve written about this here and I spoke about it in an episode of the Soonish podcast with journalist Wade Roush, who left Facebook earlier this year and inspired my own departure.

There’s got to be a better way for humans to experience connection and community in the digital age. A better way than the one Mark Zuckerberg has sold us. Here’s to finding it.

Rudi

 

I started photographing trail blazes a while back. As I looked for an image to accompany this post, the one above struck me as right.