My Life On Facebook Is Totally Fake But I’m Cool With It


I admit it: I don’t tell the world every dirty little detail of my life. And I’m not going to apologize for it.

Because even though we live in a social media, bare-all, snap-a-photo-after-every-moment kind of world, we still have the right — and the responsibility — to choose what we share about ourselves. Not everything is free reign for public consumption. So sue me if you don’t believe the life I post about is all that.

Let’s look at this two ways.

First, I don’t care to share ingrown hairs or toenails, sob stories, fat days or depressing moments. Those are for me and my closest peeps. I don’t want to show that face to the world. But it doesn’t mean I’m a liar when I choose the happy moments and pretty pictures.
I believe that what we say is how our life unfolds. Put it out there so it can manifest. That might sound woo-woo to you, but I’m 100 percent in. If I complain that my life isn’t measuring up, it simply won’t.

But if I choose to look at the glass as half-full, then it remains that way and the clear, cool liquid is incredibly soothing going down.

Secondly, why is it important to the nay-sayers and non-believers whether what I post is my real story or not? Isn’t that a healthy dose of projection? It’s like we don’t want the happy people we see on Facebook and Twitter to be truly happy. Like we don’t trust someone who’s smiling and seeing the good everywhere she looks.

That’s about you. You want to feel better about your own failings by pointing out mine. And I’m not going to play the game. I won’t apologize for my selective posting on Facebook and in my blog. That’s the life I want to share, and it’s the life I want to live.

When it snows eight inches on a cool November night, I love to see the sparkle on the laden tree branches the next morning and how the sunrise glints like crystals off the fresh quiet drifts. I’m not going to be the one complaining about the cold. I choose to live where I live, and I choose to celebrate the seasons.

My kid pictures are funny faces and fancy outfits, all of us hugging it up in some silly way. I don’t record the moments when I’m yelling at them or they’re yelling at me because I don’t want to stay in those moments — and I’m surely not inviting you into them.

We all know the ugly finds its way into every life. And we all have the right to kiss it goodbye quietly and quickly, without inviting commentary.

I’ve taken the funny foot pictures on a beach chaise with a crystalline view of the ocean beyond my perfectly painted toes. I don’t take the picture, nor even consider sharing, the moments when my toenails are misshapen with chipping polish I can’t be bothered to take off.
Things aren’t always perfect in my world. Every single one of us shoulder the burdens and disappointments of a normal life. Public persona is different than the way we live every moment. My sacred inner self only comes out with people I trust, who will cherish my fragile heart rather than stomp on it.

I love the person I am in my Instagram pictures and my Facebook posts. That’s my best face forward. I love the option to delete and edit, to think carefully about the person I share with the world.

No good will come from being snarky about the disproportion of good moments to reality on other people’s posts. Life is beautiful because you believe it’s beautiful, and the more you show the beauty the more you inhabit it.

I’m not going to apologize for being selective about what I share with the world. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.