Imaginary Friends and Happiness

I’m taking an extended Facebook sabbatical. It was just too draining for me right now. I think anyone who is going through any sad life event has no business being on the internet.

You know who else thinks so? Science, bitch!

OK, first a disclaimer: I really like some parts of Facebook. I’ve reconnected with some people I’ve let drift away. I get a kick of looking at the pictures of the kids, the weddings, the new puppy. And nothing is more fun than a Facebook birthday. Facebook isn’t inherently bad or good. But like most everything else in life, it does have a direct and measurable impact on us.

Research has shown--over and over--that the number of friends you have in social networks is inversely proportional to your happiness. Meaning the person who has 500 “friends” is actually in a worse psychological state than the person who has 100. The more “friends” you have, the lonelier you actually are.

Let’s first define friends vs. “friends.” Friends are the small handful of people that you can count on to bring you chicken soup when you are sick, offer to puncture the tires of the asshole who cheated on you, or help you up after you’ve fallen off your barstool. Once they have stopped laughing, of course.

“Friends” post pictures of their fabulous vacation on a tropical beach. You browse through them while sitting in your cubicle farm. They declare new relationships and new jobs with gusto, but rarely promote when they get laid off or dumped. You just had to change your status back to Single. They write about how their daughter got a 4.0 on her report card. You got called into school because your son was rapping a Flo Rida song during recess.

(Yes, this happened. I told Kidlet that if he does it again, he better do it in French. Yep. Mother of the Year here.)

I think you probably see the distinction. Studies have found that most people have 3 to 5 friends. Yet people collect Facebook “friends” as if they got frequent flyer miles for each new like.

A Stanford study found that social network users were particularly bad at reading the mood of “friends.” And they end up feeling sad or depressed because of that. Because Facebook makes you feel like shit. You log on and see everyone leading a perfect life. The one you aren’t having.

A University of Michigan study charted the daily depression levels of subjects as they surfed through social media. Not only did social media fuel users' depression, it fueled their narcissism. How’s that for a one-two punch.

Researchers at the University of Gothenburg found that users who spend more time on Facebook have lower self-esteem. Yeah, because what we all need is lower self-esteem. Real life is just not quite harsh enough.

In our evolved, literate, computer-savvy brains, we know that people share the good things in their life. Most people don’t post that they backed into a mailbox or forgot to pay their credit card bill. We don’t disclose those daily, mundane occurrences. We don’t hear about the challenges in the lives of “friends.” And that leaves our small, reptilian id feeling like we are the only person on earth that pulled off that hangnail, when we know we should have just waited to clip it.

And Facebook does nothing but encourage this. Until they include a Hate button, right next to the Like button, posts are going to be vacuous and meaningless. Social media preys on our need to keep up with the Jones. To not feel left out.

I’m totally geeking out over this little finding:  Science says humans don’t really have more than 150 friends. For real. It’s something called the Dunbar number, calculated by anthropologist Robin Dunbar by studying holiday cards. No joke.

His research showed that about a quarter of cards went to relatives, nearly two-thirds to friends, and 8 percent to colleagues. The total number of people receiving cards? 153.5.

(This number includes all members of a family that might receive a single card from you. So, a card addressed to your brother, his wife, and their two kids counts as 4 people that you care about.)

Dunbar categorizes these friends like this:  the inner circle friends that will bail you out at 3:00 am. One step from them are the friends you will invite to your annual 4^th of July picnic. Then there are the friends of friends: your bestie’s mom. Your significant other’s aforementioned brother. Then there are the coworkers, neighbors, and your friend at the gym.

Aside—I think most derby girls would say that each one of their teammates would bail them out. Truth is, they are more likely sitting in the cell with them. Probably still wearing skates. Both our circles and our thighs are a bit bigger than average.

So, there is your core group of Friends. The Dunbar number. “Friends” are nothing but a collection of names, validating your social status and reassuring yourself that you can sit at the cool table during lunch. Science!

Having a ton of Facebook “friends” doesn’t mean you are popular. It means you are lonely and isolated. And here is the real rub: If your “friends” post happy news, you feel sad because you think they are having the better life than you. If they post sad news, you are sad because… well, because it is sad news. You cannot win.

So how do you stay connected with friends? First you evaluate the people in your online circles and sort them into friend or “friend.” Cull the “friends.” Then step away from your screen and connect. It is really quite simple. Make a phone call. Arrange a coffee date. Go fall off some barstools.

Nerds of a Feather

So, I had a pretty great weekend. I spent some time with a new man I’ve been seeing. Over yummy pub food and drinks, our conversation naturally turned towards my favorite thing to talk about on a third date. Dungeons and Dragons.

Don’t for a moment think I am kidding or being facetious. I really will talk about this on a date. But I've learned. I don’t want to get burned again by moving too fast. D&D is for Date 3.

We were in full-out nerd talk when I casually dropped this little bomb:

“I rescued my old Dark Tower game from a junk pile when my parents moved. It’s in my basement now. “

Uh, check please.

We went to my basement and dug out the dusty Nordstrom box and unearthed the magnificence that was the Dark Tower itself.  I flipped the switch on the bottom to on, knowing that, not only is the game over thirty years old, it was always a unpredictable piece of electronics.

Let’s take a moment to bring those of you who are not familiar with the game up to speed. I am not referring to Stephen King’s epic book series. This game was out a year before the first book. Coincidence? Or ka?

Dark Tower is board game where you amass an army to defeat an evil presence that has taken over the Tower. After collecting the keys that open the Tower, you have an epic battle for control of the land. The Dark Tower is an electronic unit that displays the events of the game.  It’s like if Risk and Speak & Spell had a love child.

I replaced the batteries, sure that the Tower wouldn’t work. It did. We put out the game board, and I would sure it would have many missing pieces.  It didn’t. I was sure that I wouldn’t remember how to play. I was right about that one. But, as luck would have it, the instruction book was at the bottom of the box.

We played the hell out of that game. Drinking, talking, laughing, telling stories about our 12-year-old nerd experiences.

Every day, I am surrounded by super smart people that are passionate about what they are doing whether creating a new memory-based computing technology or talking about the 12^th Doctor. These are my people.

The real question for me is: why haven’t I been dating a nerd all along? Maybe it was just too obvious for me to see. It was almost as if I hadn’t seen The Breakfast Club. I mean, I tried dating the athlete. That did not end well for me. I married a male version of the basket case. The stress and anxiety was making ME a basket case. I have no tolerance for a princess of either gender. I think I always understood that Brian was the real catch. Although, I would probably give Bender my diamond earring. And, let’s be fair… probably more than that…

I’m going to need a moment…

Anyway… Why was I fighting it? Of course I should date a fellow nerd! When a nerd finds something he loves, he commits to it completely. A guy that has a light saber collection separated out by Sith or Jedi—then further sorted by crystal color—that guy is the one who is really going to commit to a relationship.

Nerds are big on games. But usually not mind-games or sports-games. They are the guys who will use Super Bowl Sunday as an opportunity catch the latest Star Trek for the fourth time in a nearly empty theater. They don’t really notice if you are wearing a hockey sweater. But you better watch out if you put on your t-shirt with the funny math pun.

And if your nerdy love tells you he is spending the night hanging with the guys, you can almost guarantee that the only reason they will take a break from Skyrim is if they run out of Mt. Dew. The only hot girl they will be interacting with is digital, until he comes home to you.

You know what your nerd will find super sexy? Your book collection and your ability to tank during a WoW raid. Who the hell would pass up this guy? Nerds seek knowledge, but they are also patient while seeking it. They want to do things right. They are successful and resourceful. But they are also sweet and sensitive. They will run their fingers over the spines of the classics in your bookshelf before they run their fingers down your spine. Tell me that thought didn't give you a delicious shiver.

Nerds are authentic people. They have learned that there is no point trying to be anything but who they are. And at a certain point—usually around their late 20s—they decide that if the world doesn’t like who they are, the world can suck it. Nerds have too many empires to build to worry about running into the high school quarterback, who is serving up the fries your nerd ordered.

Nerds speak their own language, filled with obscure references and inside jokes. It is like all the world’s nerds have joined a single exclusive clubs. For example, nerds will always see that this is the best Batman cosplay ever:

Nerds are sexy. I mean, politics aside, Edward Snowden is way hotter than Edward Cullins.  Simon Pegg would take you on such an amazingly fun date, possibly including zombies. 

The perfect dinner party? Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Ben Folds, Tina Fey, Wes Anderson, and Bill Gates. Even my favorite literary characters are nerds. Hermione Granger, Daria, Encyclopedia Brown, Juno, and the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

And let’s not forget about this bespectacled redhead: Velma Dinkley.

The Atheist in the Foxhole

It feels like everyone wants me to have faith. Or, more specifically, a faith.

Yesterday afternoon, I got an unexpected visitor. How I wish it was only a pair of Mormon missionaries or a Jehovah’s Witness. I know how to handle that. But it was a private investigator. I can’t talk about it much right now. But I can tell you that I am a prosecution witness in a criminal matter. And I will tell the whole story here the minute I can.

A private detective representing the defendant was at my door, wanting to ask me questions. I didn’t know how to handle it. And there was absolutely no one I could talk to about what was happening or what to do. There was no one I could talk to after she left. My mother criticized me for speaking to her, with no concern for the fact that I was blindsided, ambushed, and I didn’t know what else to do. My sister brushed it off.

And the one person that I have relied on for the last two years to help me limp through this particular version of hell is gone from my life. Has pushed me out of his life. I literally had no one that I could talk to about this. I have never missed Mr. E more than I did last night. Last night, I was completely and totally alone.

I am telling you this as a preface as to why I can’t believe there is a God.

I keep getting offers of spiritual advisory. People want to pray for me. Honestly, skip it. Don’t waste your energy. I have gotten more than a handful of Twitter followers that are trying to spiritually navigate their own chronic illness and think that their faith can comfort me. I feel much more pissed off than comforted.

Here is my problem with God. If he has a plan, then why bother praying and asking for things? If it isn’t part of the plan, you won’t get it. If it is part of the plan, you will get it anyway. And, since he is all knowing and such, he’s not going to change his mind because you asked him to.

Why pray for anyone to arrive safely? Your prayers are not keeping that airplane in the air. It either will fly or it won’t, and you asking for its safe landing will not change the outcome one bit. That is, if you believe that everything is part of a plan.

If you really, really believe in God, you wouldn’t pray at all because you would trust that whatever happens will happen regardless of your prayers. I read once there are nothing BUT atheists in a foxhole. The faithful believe they can pray their way through the hail of bullets. That has not been my experience. I need to duck and cover.

For me, having faith is a lot like our criminal justice system: the burden of proof is on the person making the claim.

I’ve said it before: I think people have a soul. I am not sure how to define that soul. But I don’t think there is any benevolent deity playing with the chess pieces of my life. Or an angry, vengeful deity that will strike me down if I publicly announce that I think he is not real. (I guess time will tell on that one...) Sometimes, I wish there was a god that would simultaneously protect me and smite my enemies. Again, this has not been my experience.

I have no faith. None. I have no faith in the people who make promises to me. I have no faith in the justice system. I have no faith in me.

I like the idea of belief. I greatly respect that faith helps people through this mostly-miserable existence. I wish I had just a little bit.

All that being said, things like this do still  tickle me:

On February 2, 1395, soon-to-be-canonized Lidwina of Schledam fell while ice skating, breaking her rib. That fall was the opening salvo of a debilitating disease, marked by walking difficulties, headaches, and pain. By the time she was 19, she could neither walk nor see. This Dutch mystic experienced 34 years of deteriorating health until her death at age 53.

Lidwina had MS.

Saint Lidwina is the patron saint of the chronically ill. And of skaters. I shit you not.

Facebook Philosophy and Bad Advice

I like to include graphics in my blog posts. They add to both the content and meaning of my writing. Back in school, I learned that a good article should have more to it than a solid block of text. It’s best to supplement your words with something that illustrates your point. Graphics help the reader digest the information. I look for images to both inspire and reinforce my ideas. These often take the form of quotes or quips printed over a stock photograph.

I will find quotes from my favorite writers and philosophers, such as Friedrich Nietzsche, Ralph Waldo Emerson, or Tina Fey. I also look for pictures that illustrate my thoughts or ones that make me (and hopefully you) laugh.

When I am going through something life changing, heart crushing, and brain eating--all at the same time--I am drawn to the words of someone who can eloquently state the feelings that are just a swirling nebula in me.

I’ve been dealing with a ton of shit in the last two months. The last two years really. So, I am seeking some truth, some reason, and some comfort.

When I browse through images looking for something to add to my posts, some capture my imagination. But, I’ve also been seeing a lot of McAdvice and fast food philosophy.

For example:

I am going to start with a grandly over-sweeping generalization. But I tend to believe it is a fairly accurate assessment. It is mostly women and girls that are seeking out these make-me-feel-better images. I am basing this on my informal observations of the soul suck known as Facebook. (Love you Facebook! Keep buying my company’s product so I have a job!)

To over-simplify, men post graphics of football, keg stands, and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.  Women go for baby animals (including humans), weddings (and other declarations that they are relationship-worthy), and pop-psychology meant to make themselves less sad.

Having said that, I have to acknowledge that I am analyzing these images through a female lens. I am testing these messages against this: Do I want my nieces to believe this? Or is it total horseshit?

So… do I want my three girls to smile no matter how much it hurts? No one should shove true feelings down through an artificial smile. Show the world your true feelings. It takes a great deal of bravery to let people into your life far enough to see that you are hurting. It shows a great vulnerability. And yes, some people will exploit that. But showing your true feelings is only way to live with any honesty. And it is the only way people will be sincere with you.

I think that watermelon graphic is particularly disturbing. That bloody watermelon knife is only one stop on the psychosis train to this:

Then there is this:

It is important to acknowledge—if only to yourself—that it IS too late for some things. It is too late for me to attend the Naval Academy. It is too late for me to have another baby (thank god), it is too late for me to be an Olympic snowboarder.

I understand the sentiment here. But I think it is misguided. I think the message needs to be: Never use where you are now as an excuse to not move towards where you want to be.

I will never be on the US National Derby team. Not because I am unable to gain the skills, but because I am only one injury away from ending my derby career. And that is ok. It is too late to use my previous 25-year-old bones and pre-MS body to elevate my derby career. And that is just fine.

It is too late for some things. Extract the life lessons and move on to whatever is next.

Unless you want to discover penicillin or Post-It notes.

Under-thinking leads to negative results. Every single time. Don’t obsess, but think things through.  

Knowing when to quit is vital to your life’s happiness. I am still working on this one. I know I should end relationships the minute trust is lost. Being persistent is of no good in that situation.

Forgetting will ensure you make the same mistakes over and over again.

Jack Dempsey was hit in the head. A lot.

Fuck that. Until you realize you are Someone without anyone, you are nothing with everyone. Your value does not depend on your being part of someone else. And never, ever agree to be a person’s something. Never think that being a part of a couple will get you everything.

Seriously? Supreme confidence is another way to say arrogance. And I can think of thousands of better accessories, including honesty, trustworthiness, kindness. And a Coach purse.

Ignore what is said in anger. When someone is angry, they are on the attack. They are acting like a 6-year-old. Maybe that explains the graphic. No, the truth comes out when they are drunk. That is when Earthquake told me I was overweight, that he would rather be watching baseball than get a blow job, and that he will never date another single mom. Pay close attention to how someone treats you when they are drunk, when they are around their family, and when they are sick. This will be an amazing insight into their soul. Also, watch how they treat restaurant staff. If they are mean to the waiter, run. And if they flirt with the waitress, run faster.

Really? Strong is the opposite of miserable? And the effort is nowhere near the same. It takes a lot of work to become physically and psychologically strong. It is painful and time consuming. Misery cannot be controlled once you let someone else hold your heart. The risk of misery is the price of admission to any relationship.

Fear keeps us alive. That is why humans have the evolutionary trait of being scared of snakes and spiders. Science, bitch!

Aside--If you are going to create a pretentious faux-philosophic JPEG, double check your spelling and grammar. 

Uh, no. Just no, no, no. I want to hip check her right off that bed.

Again, I understand the sentiment here. But it isn’t expressed well. Limits can be a great thing. I think the key for every woman is to set firm limits and never make an exception. Going beyond your limits will never end well for you.

I grew up with this poster on our kitchen wall:

And that kitchen helped generate three strong women with advanced degrees and exceptional kids. It helped develop three women that know what they will compromise on and what they won’t. The only way for a girl to do anything is for that girl to know her limits and enforce her own boundaries.

We all need to move carefully through this journey towards happiness. Don’t step in any horseshit.