Happiness. It's relative.
For years, I couldn’t communicate the way other people communicate. I couldn’t talk on the phone, and I couldn’t navigate most conversations outside of those with my husband and a very small group of other people whose voice pitch and tone were discernible by my terribly flawed hearing. Communicating in a group was impossible. I became mute.
Moreover, every situation where I was expected to communicate – to hear and respond appropriately – was paralyzing. So, whenever I could, I’d opt out, either totally as in not go, or invisibly as in completely intellectually detaching from what was going on. I lived in my head most of the time. I liked it there. No pressure.
So then came Facebook. People talking in print with pictures. Chatting. Telling jokes. Campaigning for office. Showing off what they made for dinner. Complaining about traffic or the snow or the guy across the street. It felt like a non-stop coffee klatch to me. Homey and informal and lighthearted. Facebook got me out of my head by giving me a way to be a person in the world.
Now, after two cochlear implants, I can hear, not perfectly, but ten lifetimes better than before. And I do talk to people on the phone and hold my own in a group. The utility of Facebook has changed for me. Now, it’s not the coffee klatch as much as it is a way to connect with people across racial and ethnic lines, watch and align with positive community movements, highlight the work I’m doing with Street Angels and the Commission on Aging, and learn things about people and places I would never otherwise know. Not be stuck in the last slice of life I heard.
Social media – I’m glad for it. Grateful.
Ah, Jan … A significant BEFORE and AFTER.
I’m with you. Bedridden for three years, social media helped me survive the isolation.