The Most Important Thing to Avoid on Your Birthday
…and really, in life
Facebook ruined my 49th birthday. Well, more accurately, I let it ruin my birthday. A few months ago, I turned a year older. My husband and I started the day surfing. Yes, riding waves in the ocean. Right in front of our house. Together. I got a massage. I napped. I had dinner plans I was looking forward to. But by 4:00 I was restless and pissed off.
As if surfing with my hubby, getting a massage, napping, and going out to dinner with people I love isn’t enough. Oh yeah, and as if my good friends calling and texting me “Happy Birthday” wasn’t enough. What a spoiled little bitch I sound like, no? Sounds like a pretty fucking perfect birthday to me.
The past few years, one of the highlights of my birthday was hearing from my Facebook “friends” (many people whom I’ve never met, or people who I haven’t spoken with in 30 years), and reading their kind birthday shout-outs on my wall.
It was exciting to know that ex-boyfriends, past crushes, people I’ve met once, people who I want to impress, all thought about me for a minute. They took the time to write, “Happy Birthday, Kelley!” on my wall.
I have to admit that this year I was really looking forward to all that attention on Facebook. So I checked my phone all day. I clicked “like” every time someone wished me a happy FB birthday, just to make sure I showed that I appreciated their thoughtful gesture.
So why was I restless, fidgety, even depressed by the afternoon of this seemingly perfect day? Especially when FB salutations were something I was looking forward to? I even received 81 of them. “What a lucky bitch,” you think. I think I’m a lucky bitch also. And I’m ashamed.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Am I just an ungrateful, spoiled little punk who takes the gift of real relationships and doing what I love for granted? I sure sound like one.
But I need to point out that I’ve had birthdays in the past where no seemed to care, and even went out of their way to be nasty. On my 31st birthday, my then-boyfriend showed up over an hour late, just so I’d learn to appreciate him more. On that birthday, I was an angry, sobbing 31-year old.
On my 26th birthday, I lived in San Francisco and had few friends and not much money. I decided to make the best of my day by riding my bike across the Golden Gate Bridge. On my ride, strangers yelled, “Fuck you” and “You’re going the wrong way, stupid”. I think I rode in the pedestrian lane. I know. I am not gifted with a lot of common sense. Still, it was not a pleasant way to ring in my 26th year.
Birthdays like these are one of many reasons why I should have embraced my 49th.
Here’s the thing. I was so focused on who was going to post on my Facebook wall that I couldn’t enjoy the beautiful day that was unfolding. It’s so messed up. I know. But I’m trying to figure this shit out. What the fuck has our culture come to? And why am I buying into it?
There are a lot of substantial reasons why people are deleting/deactivating their Facebook accounts. The Cambridge Analytica issue made me sick. That should have stopped me right there. Harvesting data for political purposes, to further the success of the most evil and incompetent president ever in office? Isn’t that enough? Apparently not.
The recent Facebook security breach would also justify my breaking up with this insidious app. Yet I still won’t de-activate my Facebook account because…why? I want to stalk people I admired in high school? I want to see what my exes are doing, 15 years later? I want to portray that I have this meaningful life? I still need to prove to everyone who knew me back in the day that I didn’t turn into the alcoholic depressive they figured I’d end up as?
I was ashamed I’d ruined my birthday by fanatically checking my phone for Facebook shout-outs. So a couple days later I deleted the app off my phone. Sadly, it took a lot of courage. My finger was shaking as I pressed on the little blue F and eliminated it.
I’m not that brave, though. I still have a Facebook account. I check it as little as possible, and I’ve deleted my birthday from my personal information. Maybe for my 50th, I’ll finally appreciate my life instead of obsessively checking my phone. Maybe I’ll actually be the person I want to portray on my Facebook page: satisfied enough with my life that I can avoid Facebook altogether.
