A Penny for your Thoughts: Socially Disconnected

My Personal Social Life Is… Dead?

I’m a terrible friend. I’m also terrible at personal social media. I have no need to really shout from the digital rooftops what’s going on in my life. If someone messages me, I chat with them. My personal facebook is setup so that only people who have a mutual friend can send me a friend request. There are a handful that sit there, digitally poking me, waiting for me to confirm, deny, ignore, or whatever. I just let them be. They don’t bother be, really, and I have my reasons for not accepting.

I’m in my own bubble more often than not, even at the day job. And, while I love getting messages from people (who aren’t begging me to come to the high school reunion) that I haven’t chatted with in years, I have a hard time getting just images and memes. I’m quiet. I’m an introvert. The only drama I want is the fictional kind. Movies, Television, Books. And even sometimes in the fictional realm, I tilt my head to the side and wonder what just caused this entire blowout?

Basically, what I’m saying is, if people want to know what I’m up to in my life, why don’t they just ask? Ask how I am doing. Ask me to meet up for coffee. Ask why I haven’t kept in touch. I suppose that I appear unapproachable in both digital and physical worlds. At least, in my personal digital life. Message or tag me on my twitter profile? I’m most likely going to reply (unless It’s an automated message telling me to buy your book or sign up for your newsletter…).

I still share things, but nothing personal.

I’ll share a meme or an article or a post. Usually I’ll share them without making my own comments. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, I just figure those who get what I’ve decided to share will get it and they’ll like it or comment.

I think my main issue is that I’m focused on me. There are so many years that I haven’t focused on me, that I’m trying to make up for it as fast as I can. I pamper myself by going to the spa for a deep tissue massage. I went three times last year – the most I’ve ever been, and felt so good taking care of myself. I don’t wait for someone to do something for me – but I do ask for help when something is beyond me.

I’m focused on my writing. It’s not a hobby, it’s my future. It’s what I want to be doing all the time. The best way to learn how to write better, is to write. Ideas are always popping in, some like a lightning strike. That’s my latest thing. Some stories come in so fast and bright and need to be written as fast as possible before they vanish, leaving spots in my eyes and my hair standing on end while I wonder what’s burning. And, I love it. I want to go play with a kite to attract more of those strikes. I want to stand under the tallest tree I can find. Hold a golf club as the thunder rumbles a warning.

These are people who don’t know what I write.

They know I write if they look at the writing posts, articles, and images I occasionally share on my profile. However, they have no idea what it is that I’m actually writing. I also know that I wouldn’t tell most of them simply because I feel that while I may share my writing with the world, it’s under a pen name. I’m someone protected behind that wall of a persona that they’ve no idea exists.

I feel that when they send me images like the one above, it says “I know her”, but they really don’t because neither of us have really kept in touch. And, while I would be willing to strike up a conversation, rekindle a friendship, (and this is where my selfishness comes in) it’s going to be up to them to make the first step. To make the first invitation. I’ve been used, abused, walked on, judged, misjudged, and mistreated in my life. Never physically abused, but there are other ways of leaving scars. So yes, I’m quite selfish with my well-being, my personal life, my writing and author life.

Is there a friend or three that you haven’t gotten in touch with? Do they send you memes saying what a wonderful person you are, blessings and wishes for a happy life without inquiring about your life? Am I the only person in a bubble in the world that simply lets things pass by because I’m trying to do what’s best for me?