I was too good at social media, so I had to leave.

I said “happy birthday” to people and it was wrong.

I have a great memory and remember too many details about people’s lives. I’m a communication perfectionist, so I know and feel the value of words and remember them well… even if you’re just someone I met once… for 30 minutes. However, to not freak people out, especially acquaintances, I pretend like I don’t know you went on a trip that one December, like it was just your cat’s birthday, like you have beef with your roommate, like you went to that new restaurant (or shared that you did) two weeks ago. 

I like making people feel like they matter and being a good listener helps with that, only until you realize that having internal storage of someone’s shared social media self doesn’t actually make you closer to them, it just means you have some facts about, well, a stranger. 

I thought that we were supposed to be social on social media! You would think it’s that obvious. We “follow” each other, so since I know it’s your birthday, my brain says happy birthday! amazing! No, that’s wrong. That post is actually mostly for show and meant to matter to 10% of your follower list and I am but a designated observer, forced by unreciprocated happy birthdays year after year to pretend like I don’t actually see you.

Who are you again? Would you say hi to me on the street? Mirror my smile? We follow each other on Instagram, so when you ask on your story if anyone wants to join you at your concert tonight, that must not include me. 

Am I but a number contributing to your follow list? Deduced, disembodied, and broken down into a tiny photo, username, and comment, humanity erased that I couldn’t possibly have been thoughtful enough to send a word or two of affirmation at 9:08pm on a Wednesday night? Instead, I am ignored on the street, reminding me that I am not real.

This article was originally published on Substack on July 26, 2024.