Why Facebook doesn't suck

A year ago I joined Facebook because I wanted to find my old friends Amy and Evan.  They were two people who stand out from my past as characters who I wanted in my life again.  Before this inkling, I regarded networking sites with disdain, an ego boost of celebrity.  I didn't want to be contacted by my past; those who were still relevant I spoke to.  The rest were not.   

Since then, I have let my voyeur loose, becoming the very abuser of technology that I loath.  I don't write back to sincere messages from old friends, searched people's pictures to see how time treated them, and sought the "friendship" of people I admired half my life ago.  Facebook leveled the playing field and became a reality show I watched when I was bored (thankfully that is not too often).

 

I have also attended two reunions of old friends.  The first one involved four other women from my days in NFTY, a Jewish youth organization that brought kids together across a region--ours was Central NY--for weekend events called conclaves.  Yes, they were intended to expand Jewish learning and spirit, but they also served to advance drug and sexual experimentation.  It was in this haze of potsmoke and hook-ups that I met these four girls.  In truth, I only had an authentic friendship with one of them and through her I met a group of bright anarchists who read Noam Chomsky and listened to the Ramones, quite the contrast from my jappy, jockish high school.  But that's a different story.  So we meet in the city at an address higher than my usual downtown doings and it's fine.  Fine.  Though almost fifteen years have passed, I am still the same and so are they.  The evening was a good laugh, but who we've become is no closer to each other than we were at seventeen.  

Last night was my second reunion and after it, I felt vindicated for joining Facebook.   I went out for drinks and then dinner with Amy and Jessica, two girls I bunked with for seven summers.  And it was so very easy.  The banter began in the plan making and didn't end until we parted ways.  I met Jessica first,  on fifth avenue at close to five o'clock.  There were few interactions that I saw yesterday that matched the excitement and delight of our reunification.  Within a block, our conversation felt more like friends who hadn't seen each other in a year instead of a decade. In the next couple of hours she caught me up on her family who I loved, the trials of in-laws, and the sweet saga of finding her husband.  It turns out that he is her junior high science partner.

After a few drinks, Amy got off work and met us.  Still petite with a scratchy voice, she entered this stuffy Midtown scene, dismissively waved her arms at the suits around us and had us laughing before we finished hugging.  Catching up with her didn't feel like necessary.  It was a relaxing conversation that quietly conveyed the knowing that we will meet again. Her openness and readiness for laughter remain in tact, making her one of the easiest people to be around.  From there it didn't take long before we were forcing Jessica to stay beyond her expected departure and piling into a cab so she wouldn't piss herself on the way to a Korean dinner.  

There are so many things about last night that I loved.  The most salient is how expansive the concept of time is.  I often feel like there's not enough of it.  I am rushing to make the most of it:  learning, connecting, doing, quieting, loving.  I want to use it all well, maximize it while I have it.  Yet last night, it was like something called my bluff.  These notions of controlling time were challenged by an encounter that felt timeless; I was more engaged with these women than with some of the folks I try to make time for.  This summer I have a lot of time, yet I feel rushed to get busy using it.  

As for Facebook, I finally get it.  It's not everyone that I will want to meet up and know again, but even if this is the last internet date for a while, it is worth it.