Laur Denton
Sometime in early fall of last year, I did a thing with my social media. In a fit of desperation, I hid every single person I followed.
Let me explain what that looks like: On Facebook I unfollowed everyone so that, while I’m still “friends” with all the same people, I now don’t see updates in my feed. On Instagram I muted everyone — I’m still following them, but no feed to scroll through. To be completely honest, I did add back a small handful into my feeds — school PTOs, a few far-flung friends who I’ll never hear anything about unless I see them online, and a few people on Instagram who sell pretty things. (How else will I know about the latest Parris Flea Market cutie or Tew Good Find or A. Edge earring?)
This action came after countless rules I’d put in place for myself over the last handful of years, as social media has become the way most people communicate and entertain themselves. To fight back against my time wastage, some of my rules have included:
► Social media only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
► I can post but no scrolling.
► Check messages and comments every other day.
► Check them only once a week.
► Take a 30-day break, then reevaluate.
The rules were meant to reduce my distraction, keep me from disappearing down an internet rabbit hole and generally make me feel less scattered. In setting the rules, my hope is always to avoid that feeling at the end of the day when I realize how much time I lost during the last 12 hours because I repeatedly gave into the temptation to “just check something really quick”— usually when I’m procrastinating and putting off doing the thing I actually need to do.
I like a good rule to follow — a nice, shiny plan or goal — so I’m great at sticking with my social media rules … for about a week. Then I start breaking the rules (for entirely justified reason, of course) and I’m right back where I started, feeling overextended and distracted and edgy.
I don’t know about you, but when I’m on social media too much (and depending on the time of year and my book publishing schedule, it can feel like a lot), it ceases to be a fun thing. Instead of adding to my life and giving some sort of sustenance, it becomes a drain. It diminishes. And for me, all that distraction and scatter results in a dry writing well, which turns me into a short-tempered and uptight Lauren.
(Sidenote: I’m a full-fledged adult dealing with this kind of stuff. My poor children won’t be on social media at least until they’re 30.)
A few weeks ago, I listened to an interview with an author talking about how we do this very thing — we overextend ourselves in so many ways, and we run around trying to do this and do that, fix this and fix that. She said there’s a great Irish metaphor that talks about how we spend all our time chasing the cows instead of just building a fence. And I wondered, is that what I’m doing? Is my flimsy rule-setting and attempts to minimize my distraction just me chasing cows all over the place?
Maybe what I should be doing is building a fence that takes care of the problem once and for all.
I’m not sure there is a “once and for all” fix here, at least not for me. Life is busy and chaotic and unpredictable, and I’ve already shown myself to be an unreliable rule-follower, at least as it pertains to keeping myself on the social media straight and narrow.
But as we sit here on the cusp of a brand-new year, my hope is that this will be the year I get a firm grasp on my time. That I stop scrolling through Mark Zuckerberg’s idea of a metaverse utopia, searching for that one thing that will make me a better parent, wife, writer, friend, pet-owner, housekeeper or decorator, and start feeding myself and my spirit by things that don’t depend on a good wifi connection.
Things like reading good books, trying new recipes and spending time outside in the sun and cool breeze. Taking a walk instead of giving into the mindless newsfeed scroll, letting my own creativity bubble up instead of filling my mind with everyone else’s ideas, and looking to scripture for peace and hope and purpose rather than the latest influencer-inspired deep dive into where I should find my next great pair of jeans.
I’ve said it here before: I’m not a New Year’s resolution kind of gal. If I don’t make them, I can’t be disappointed in myself if I don’t keep them. (Pessimistic, I know, but also realistic.) So I won’t call it a New Year’s resolution. I won’t even call it a goal. It’ll just be my intended destination. A landing place, if you will. A way to lay down the frenzied cow-chasing and build a fence of rest and renewal and refreshment. And may the same be true for you, too. Happy New Year, friends.
When I’m not writing about my family and our various shenanigans, I write novels and go to the grocery store. My novels are in stores (locally at Little Professor and Alabama Booksmith) and online. You can reach me by email atlauren@laurenkdenton.comlauren@laurenkdenton.com, visit my website laurenkdenton.com, or find me on Instagram @laurenkdentonbooks or Facebook ~laurenkdentonauthor.
