But I think, as we get older and sense that memory is deceiving and strange, we also do this to remind ourselves it did happen. That despite the disconnect that time creates, and any negative residue collected within ourselves, there was joy.
Sure, I was collecting things in an online space. But it still felt like clutter, fit for shoe boxes under my bed. And with Pinterest, my aspirations no longer floated in my head. They were right there: discoverable, pinnable, and recyclable by others. Aren’t my dreams supposed to be elusive? Unable to be bookmarked?
Alone, I sobbed. Yet I sobbed with Facebook open—his life revealed and exposed in bits on my screen, his friends spilling tears on his profile. I sobbed at home, by myself, but also with everyone else.
A boundaryless world where I participated and created, lost in moments mostly undocumented.
It’s strange and fascinating, this Facebook. It’s as if we must be artful and precise in our use—when life can be hard to document.
Just before I went on a trip to Vegas, I was in Egypt. I doubt I’ll fly that jarring Egypt-to-Las Vegas itinerary ever again, and since this odd, amusing juxtaposition of culture still swirls in my head, I thought to share it with you.