I cancelled and closed my Twitter account last week.
I’m almost hesitant to mention it; it was so undramatic But maybe it deserves an epitaph or memorial of some kind…
Years and years ago, Twitter was the place to be and I, like all just-beginning bloggers/entrepreneurs, knew I had to be there too. Yes, it was a marketing tool that served; a place to meet and greet, post and promote, respond and affirm. But far more, unwittingly and unknowingly, it was the platform through which I met some of my now-dearest colleagues and friends. Relationships were sparked and started with 140-character tweets. Their sustenance beckoned and invited far more: hours-long conversations on Skype, later Google Hangouts, and thankfully, face-to-face in dear-deep-ongoing gift.
I’m grateful: I got far more than intended or imagined from Twitter and now, beautiful relationships in hand-and-heart, I can leave it behind.
No strategic business decision. No pros and cons. No second thoughts. No thought at all, other than, “I’m done.” With little fanfare and only a couple of simple steps (along with a frantic and almost instantaneous are you sure? email from Twitter itself), I clicked, “Yes, I mean it.”
I’m wondering how this small and simple decision – and its implementation – speaks to more; how many opportunities exist in a day, week, month, and certainly year-and-life to say, “I’m done” and “Yes, I am sure;” how many things/realities/practices/pathologies/beliefs I maintain because they served at one time, but I’ve not looked at closely enough to determine if that is still the case.
And I’m wondering what it means to (seemingly) risk not being seen or heard – whether that’s even true, whether it really matters, whether I care.
So I ask myself: Is my strongly-felt desire to say “I’m done,” and “Yes, I’m sure,” to pull back – via leaving Twitter and a myriad of other micro and macro decisions – an attempt to escape my own demons, my fear and insecurity? Does being smaller (or at least quieter) somehow protect me from being misunderstood, disagreed with, rejected, not mattering at all? Is there something else going on here that I’m not looking at closely enough?
I may change my mind, but for now my answer to all these questions is “no.”
I am not pulling back; I am standing still and strong.
I am not attempting to escape my demons or avert fear and insecurity; I am naming them, looking them straight in the eye, and not backing down.
I am not being smaller or quieter; I am choosing when and what I want to say – even (and especially) if it’s less. If I am misunderstood, disagreed with, rejected, or don’t matter, well, there’s little I can do about that and far more risk in thinking I can.
And yes, there is something else going on here that, in truth, I’m looking at very closely and carefully.
Believe me, leaving Twitter has nothing to do with any of this and it has compelled me to ask good questions and consider what matters more/most, to pay attention to what’s really happening in my head, heart, and life.
Did you know that Twitter’s tagline is “it’s what’s happening”?
What’s happening is the normal and ordinary and extraordinary and amazing and heartbreaking and challenging and courageous stories we live every day. What’s happening is the choices we make. What’s happening is the emotions we feel and trust and express (which include fear and insecurity, grief and sadness, hope and joy, desire and anticipation, contempt and disappointment, all of them). What’s happening is the conversations we have. What’s happening is the questions we ask. What’s happening is the work we do. What’s happening is the things we create. What’s happening is the homes we tend. What’s happening is the pets we care for (and who care for us). What’s happening is the people we love. What’s happening is the real world, exactly-as-it-is, in which we live – which might include the virtual one, but definitely doesn’t revolve around such.
I have no witty or pithy ending to this post – which, ironically, feels appropriate in the context of “I’m done” and “Yes, I’m sure.” And I only need 13 characters to say what I almost always do: May it be so.