What Can't Facebook Ruin?

I hope it’s pity-inducing to know I was a pastor’s kid, trained to sit quietly with my mom and younger brother to not draw extra attention. Luckily I was already pretty naturally quiet, so I escaped in stories, usually within the opening illustration, if I was lucky and not the subject that week (thankfully, my dad learned that always humiliated me, regardless of what it was about, and he cared). I’d imagine the setting and scenario, whatever it was, little details catching my mind’s eye like thorns on a sweater. I’d get so into it, I’d lose all interest in the lesson. Though, to be fair, I knew early on the whole point was to snooker everyone into feeling ashamed of something. We were like the coyote in the roadrunner cartoons, too spiritually dumb to realize (or care) that we were being set up to understand God better.

Meanwhile, on TV, I was getting the greatest education in storytelling an angsty budding writer could hope for. Before I even thought of being a book editor, the Dukes of Hazzard and CHiPs would always get to “bookin’”—outrunning the law, or booking criminals. But as a sheltered kid in the 1980s, I got lost on the regular in stories. I didn’t care if it was Saturday night movies or big hardcovers.

My favorite story was E.T., which we went to see in a theater as a rare treat. We were probably still too young, but that was the first time I felt my longing to escape as a fundamental goal of existence. Soon I’d escape with Meg Murray in A Wrinkle in Time, and the young boy in The Neverending Story.

(Sorry. We will never forget you, Artax.)

So many stories reinforced the longing. Church simply couldn’t compete with my true conversion and baptism. I was going to be a storyteller. Because I was no longer alone. That longing formed me, so of course I was ripe for Facebook to extract and monetize my attention. And like so many formerly fun and benign products, it now sucks. The name for this I’m not allowed to say as a good Christian boy, but “planned obsolescence” serves just fine. And we all want to go back to the good ol’ days, but they’re gone now.

Everything is being intentionally made worse across every industry by the profiteers and “shareholders.” We’re waking up and smelling the coffee, but while they continue to lower costs (and quality) (see Worse On Purpose for eye-popping analysis on consumer brands), I’m still reading and watching movies.

You’d think the big Christian publishing houses I worked in wouldn’t degrade people, places, and things the same way with extreme verbs. Supporting, caring, or at least editing should be happening, not simply acquiring rights, managing content, and excising waste. On paper, processes were streamlined with cheaper synthetic substitutes, and no one claimed books were widgets, but we all knew what was expendable. Even authors, editors, and imprints could be made compliant.

I don’t pine for the glory days of prizing elitist authors, but honoring them, or at least seeing them listened to would have helped me rationalize my complicity. There’s a reason money is said to be at the root of all kinds of evil; it dissolves all values into cold numbers. I can no longer hear the phrase “for the kingdom” without hearing the corrupted profit-seekers. The only thing still cherished were powerful stories, but they were now seen as brands to be shaped into efficient machines to build trust in the company. Capitalism demands all big business to be extractive. But dismissing the “enshootification” sounds suspiciously like the dismissal of supremacy.

And still some Christians follow this guy named Jesus, though you might not know it. Those of us who grew up in the pews heard about a good Samaritan who took care of strangers, so unlike the religious folks who passed by on the other side. And it’s just so, what is it? Mmm,

“Beyond galling?” If your ideology doesn’t include basic appreciation for the beauty of serving the stranger—a stranger who is paying you actual money for your service or product, well, I’m sorry. You have sold out. To money, of all things. Oh, but yes, “for the kingdom,” of course, which makes it completely invisible to outsiders.

It’s so depressing.

Tia Levings’ amazing book, I Belong to Me: A Survivor’s Guide to Recovery and Hope After Religious Trauma, brought this all back. I was reminded I still feel this so strongly, wanting to do something to educate and create awareness (and meaningful connection) with like-minded folks around this shared interest—the pursuit of true escape in immersive experiences. We’ve all been places. We’ve seen things, read books, found beauty. And we all long to share what we love and what concerns us.

I hear the arguments: “Can we escape so much evil! Isn’t that irresponsible! Who can have peace with such evil running rampant?” Okay. And what can we do but set examples of what a beautiful life might look like? I’d love to take some time to ponder that here with you, if you’re game.

I’ve been a book editor a long time. I’ve heard the arguments and many potential answers to this big shared conundrum of widespread corruption and hypocrisy. We do need people to change, but don’t we need to change too? And shouldn’t we go first? Obviously, I’m writing this to challenge you to consider changing in some specific way, or at least to influence you toward that.

But I’m hoping to change myself most of all.

And I don’t like to shame people, even if they seem to deserve it.

I’m just an aging Xer. I’ve used Facebook as my primary social media for 25 years or so, and I’m deeply concerned about what the internet has wrought. The general lack of connection, but especially adhesion, i.e. stronger bonds that once helped sustain us. We wanted to stay connected with people, but most people still feel unseen. We’re “connected” to more people now, but it’s reduced and less meaningful. It’s harder to connect offline. And the longer we stay, the harder it will become. Don’t you grieve that kids now have to contend with everything, and can’t make friends for all the noise and perfection-performances streamed into their phones 24/7?

I think this deserves serious thought. And sustained, long-term solutions. And no, we’re not going to save everyone, but I think we need some more conversation about this, not just to be heard, but to hear what others are doing about it. The benefits also deserve to be recognized, not diminished (dating sites, chat rooms, worthy causes, innovative businesses, support groups formed, adoptions found, diseases and emergencies navigated, and lives changed). We’ve got all human knowledge in our pockets. And yet, some are in despair, their usefulness gone, like tiny shots of whiskey in way too much water. We’re all a bit too spread out and less potent. And the kids who grow up online have real trouble identifying who they are.

But until the tech bros figure out how to take our souls, the internet is only part of our reality. We can decide we don’t have to compete for attention. We can know we’re important to someone. And we can escape the impersonal crowd and play in a sandbox of real people.

If you’re still reading this and nodding, I care way more about you than the people who read my posts on Facebook.

Maybe it’ll be different on the future social sites. It’s not just social media; even email isn’t personal enough. I try, but inboxes and feeds are tough to crack. Even great books get lost in the sheer number of releases. Who can compete?

So here we are, spending our finite time and attention, hoping for something real. Do we even know what that means? What are we really after? I’ve felt this inner chasm growing for a while now. And I just want to be with the folks who inspire me to make a difference. I’m not prone to depressive spirals (I prefer “periodic mood swings”), and I don’t need treatment for any imbalances that I know of.

Some folks simply don’t know what’s true anymore. We’ve seen it; we know them. (And sure, the misinformed have always been with us. But they’ve never had such a champion before.)

I love random humor, literary (and “upmarket”) fiction, and good, strong drinks (coffee, of course, but also Central CA wine, especially Modesto area). And I do love this screwed-up country. I’m heartbroken by the hypocritical, selfish, weak-minded, lovable idiots who are too distracted to see this, and I see one of them every morning in the mirror, and I want to smack him and tell him to go get my party pants.

Maybe I’m just learning midlife over here. And I won’t be here forever. So I’m making a start. That’s all. Good enough. No hero is coming, so let’s just get this going. Whatever you’re wearing, whatever this is.

[Insert He-Man singing “What’s going on?!”]

Earlier this summer, I listened to a great audio version of Huckleberry Finn with a Southern accent that made it like stepping back in time. It was such a fun escape into the goodness and tomfoolery Twain was born to capture (pretty sure “tomfoolery” comes from Tom Sawyer, and don’t correct me if I’m wrong).

I also listened to one of my favorite authors, Matt Haig’s How to Stop Time, a time-slip speculative romance, on Sheri’s recommendation. I didn’t need much convincing after The Midnight Library and The Life Impossible. Haig’s anxiety-prone and British, and a sensitive, intelligent soul, and I can’t get enough of his work. Exactly my flavor, never overwrought or too sweet, and I love how he keeps things interior-focused, but always raising the temperature on emotion—fear, and love, and longing especially. Maybe there are happy endings for the loneliest souls…

And I just reviewed an excellent upcoming memoir by ex-Mormon sex therapist Natasha Helfer with Lake Drive Books called Sexcommunicated. Confessional, fierce, and harrowing, what she endured to become a therapist combatting the oppression of purity doctrine. I’m in process on several others, but trying not to work as much this summer and just enjoy the garden and pool while the girls are off. (They’re 20 & 23, and attending Grand Valley State here nearby. And my oldest, Ellie, is interning with me this summer, which is so fun I’m trying not to get too excited.)

Our garden, because it’s such a present daily reminder. So many flowers and critters to appreciate!

But less obviously, our primary blue 2001 Honda CR-V. She’ll take all the love we can give her, and her shocks and struts need attention. But if you haven’t owned a car you’ve loved and taken on countless road trips and had picnics in the back with your little girls in, and driven to the top of Pike’s Peak, and to the Space Needle, and Lake Tahoe, and the coast of “Sandy Eggo,” well, do you really know how pleasurable it is when she still starts right up in the Michigan cold without a single protest?

Even after this.

(Her bumper got smashed in Oregon, in 2017. But she’s fine now.)

I’ve lost count of the number of bumps and spills she’s had, but she’s spent very little time out of commission, and we’ll all keep loving “Big Blue” until she’s finally put out to pasture.

I sent an Instagram video to my wife the other day (one of my love languages, not hers), about lightly rubbing a mosquito bite rather than scratching it. She always wants to go out this time of year to see sunsets or the fireflies, but she magically delicious to the bugs. And I’ve told her not to scratch before, and to use the hydrocortisone I got her, but maybe this video will work. If you haven’t seen it, the video says it’s the contrast between the small activated bite spot and the rest of the area that signals the itch. I’m not sure why that matters, but I’m hoping it helps.

Let me know if you have a chance to test this life-changing scientific theory the algorithm sent me. And feel free to share one of your own recent faves.

And thanks for being willing to put up with me this long. I don’t plan to write so much next time.

The Longing Forward is a semi-regular, usually-brief personal newsletter from a nonfiction book editor known as Mick Silva. Whether this one is indicative of future installments is hard to say. But there will be no ads, AI, or state propaganda.