Never have lives less lived been more chronicled,” – Dennis Miller on The Dan LeBatard Show.
“Is this where it begins?” I tweeted upon seeing yet another notification that one of my friends had joined SnapChat. “Does old age start with a stubborn refusal to join new social networks?”
It was cool when it was just “the kids” with their black bar- or large white print-captioned photos and videos sneaking into my Instagram feed. When I thought thirtysomethings were aligned in boycott of new-fangled social media. That we’d all parked our rocking chairs on Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr or Facebook; happy to look out on the horizon at the children and their new toys. But no. Slowly, my peers and favorite publications have tip-toed into the land of dog filters and car karaoke videos while I cling with white knuckles to my perch.
As each “follow me on SnapChat” request slides down my Twitter feed, I wonder: Have I reached the Final Frontier of Social Media?
I felt it coming. With the exception of Twitter–the best outlet for my Compulsive Chatterbox Syndrome–I’m running out of things to share. I deleted my Facebook page (again) last month because I lost all desire to keep up with it, even if that meant losing blog readers. My Instagram account has turned into a smorgasbord of moments I’m bored enough to capture: whiskey tumblers, song snippets, quotes from the books I read, the occasional selfie. I tried to get that old thing back by participating in a March Photo-A-Day Challenge, but burned out mid-month. And I mean, you’ve seen the state of this blog since the New Year, right? I haven’t exactly been consistent or engaging.
The fuck am I going to do with white block letters and dog filters?
I can’t help but wonder if the brats of #90sBabyTwitter are on to something when they say “I’m not gonna be tweeting in my thirties” (Apply this sensibility to everything but Twitter, because again–Compulsive Chatterbox Syndrome). Am I on the brink of the physical world being more intriguing than the lifestyle porn, telenovellas, and bottomless pits of debate unfolding on my phone?
Perhaps there’s more to it than “rejecting new social networks because, old.”
Perhaps the real Final Frontier is losing your F.O.M.O.