I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drive through my old hometown without a quick detour to see my childhood home.
It’s comforting to look at a place you used to live and see how it all plays out.
I can’t go to Ithaca, New York without stopping at my freshman dorm Lyon Hall or drive through the commons without checking if the dilapidated house I lived in during senior year has finally collapsed on top of itself.
Just last week, my wife had occasion to pass the first house we lived in together and we both found it way more interesting than we should have.
She noticed that the creepy old neighbor had moved out and I wondered if he died or found somewhere a little warmer to spend his final years. I doubt I’ll ever know but I hope he’s well.
I’m not really looking for anything specific when I pass these houses, it’s just fun to notice things.
It’s the same way I prefer being the passenger in a car for the brief glimpses into all the other cars we pass. It sucks so much when you pass a car with something interesting going on and still have to keep your eye on the road because you’re driving.
I once passed a guy playing a forward-facing flute (with both hands) while driving down the Merritt Parkway, which if you’re not from Connecticut is basically a two-lane version of Toad’s Turnpike from Mario Kart.
I assume he was charming a snake but I have no idea because I had to immediately turn my attention back to the stupid, boring road in front of me.
This is why social media is so addicting. You can peek into all the lives you’ve passed before from the comfort and safety of your own home.
Sure, it’s just a glimpse at 70-miles-per-hour, but it’s fun to notice things.
For example, I still enjoy following my old neighborhood’s Facebook group.
I fully intend to leave the page at some point but every time I try to, I can’t. It would be like shutting off a movie before it ends – I need to see the story play out.
Does the former business park get converted into the trucking warehouse that the neighborhood opposes?
Will the car-handle-jiggling miscreants ever be brought to justice?
Will the lady at 12 Marie Lane ever find her missing Amazon package?
Something inside of me desperately wants to know the answers to these questions even though I absolutely do not care. If they all disappeared tomorrow I wouldn’t be any worse for the wear yet I hold onto them like a midwestern stepmom dusting her Beanie Baby shelf.
I haven’t always been this way.
One of the things I liked most about leaving for college was leaving high school behind so why am I still spending so much time liking, commenting on, and caring about what people I went to high school with have posted on Facebook?
It might be a fear of missing out but it’s more likely a fear of being forgotten.
I used to scan Facebook’s birthday notifications the way senior citizens scan the obituaries every day (until Facebook moved them to an undisclosed location) and half the time I’d have to click through just to remember how I knew my “friend,” especially in my mid-30’s when girls kept getting married and changing their last names.
Ours is a disposable society but the guy who taught me how to build a beer funnel in 2002 somehow still keeps popping into my life via social media. And why am I always happy to see him when he does!?
My feed is mostly composed of zombie friendships stuck laughing in perpetuity about some inside joke from the summer of 2002. Nobody cares about 2002. It was a dead weight year sandwiched between 9/11 and invading Iraq.
There is no earthly reason I should ever know what happened to that guy. Male nurse? Okay, I guess. Wouldn’t have guessed that but good for him. He seems happy and really into backyard barbecues, which is cute.
When I was a little kid exclusion was the best part of communication. I wanted walkie talkies with their own radio frequency or invisible ink pens you needed a special highlighter to decode.
How’d I go from trying to master pig latin so nobody else could understand me and my friends to chasing likes on Facebook from the very people I used to want to exclude?
It isn’t about the likes, it’s about being remembered. How weird would it be to reach out to someone you haven’t seen for decades just to say, “I remember you”? Yet that’s all a Facebook like really amounts to anymore.
It feels nice.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pick up my phone without scrolling past the stories of the people I used to know. It’s comforting to look at people you used to know and see how it all plays out.
If you enjoy my humor writing, please subscribe below.
If you want to syndicate this column, you may contact me here to discuss the details.
You may notice that I’ve disabled commenting on this post. I’d love to hear your thoughts by email at [email protected].