scribblechic

There is something unquestionably tempting about traveling across years and miles to connect with friends courtesy of a click. This past week I confronted pieces of myself, insecurities exaggerated by uncertainties, online.

I won’t add to the humility of my momentary insanity by elaborating on the absurdity of my self-induced pity party, or the panicked plea for reassurance. Suffice to say the novelty of social networking began to blur into something generically personal. In a moment not unlike a curiously distorted fun house mirror, I looked deeper into the odd representation for clarity.

I am taking a break from adding friends, maintaining status updates, and commenting on every post in exchange for holding more tightly to those who know the sound of my laughter. I want to have private conversations in person and write letters to those whose paths wind too far outside the routines of my days. There is nothing novel in this sharing, only a gentle reminder to myself that the moments that become memories are shared, friendship is written on our hearts not our walls.

Tagged: Musing