I would be the first to raise my hand in the midst of a crowd if we were asked about advocating for the use of social media. I’ve spent hours – by myself, nonetheless – with tears streaming down my cheeks, laughing as hard as I can watching 6-second looped videos on Vine (come back @vine) and reading relatable memes on Instagram. Not only is it entertaining, but I’ve found social media to be incredibly inspirational and motivating.
It’s because of fitness-focused accounts that I spent a year doing two-a-days at the gym and actually loving them. It’s because of foodies that I began experimented with cooking once graduating from college (and since then, have only caught my kitchen on fire twice). It’s because of social media that I can laugh with other millenials about the pains of learning how to be a responsible adult – including what kinds of parchment paper can and cannot be put in the oven. It’s because of artists that share their work that I bought a watercolor kit and a couple paintbrushes a year and a half ago and started painting to pass my time alone in my studio apartment productively, creatively, and healthily. It’s because of social media that I have been prompted to experiment with new avenues and medium in creating art, especially since I haven’t taken classes since before I turned 10 (with the exception of a semester in college my freshman year). It’s because of social media that I feel more connected to my grandma (she’s a rockstar technologist) and friends from my childhood that I haven’t seen since moving to Washington State at the age of 15.
Social media is so cool. It’s innovative, inspiring, witty, quick, and global. It is so good, a lot of the time, but it also has the capacity to be incredibly destructive. Not in and of itself – it doesn’t have that type of power – but in the way that we use it. For a lot of us, it’s a crutch, a way to pass the time that we would otherwise be spending with other people, developing in our identities, growing in our skills, being more observant, or enjoying the presence of God. It’s ability to consume us is sneaky; if I’m not careful, my phone is the first thing I reach for while standing in line at the grocery store, at a stoplight, when I am trying to avoid eye contact of someone in passing. It seems like nothing, but it’s quick to become a habit. And, for me, when social media checking becomes a habit, I can drive myself to unhealthy comparison against others – trying to figure out why the whole of my life is so much less appealing that the highlights of others’. I know that if I am checking social media recklessly, and without consideration of my sensitive heart, it starts to ache. And, too, it becomes a lot harder to distinguish between finding inspiration and falling victim to comparison. This happens a lot with my art, which I understand doesn’t make sense because art is supposed to be subjective, but in the world of social media where “likes” and “follows” are a currency (digitally and monetarily), it’s easy to forget true worth isn’t at all tied into digital popularity. It can be incredibly difficult to grow in your identity, according to God’s plan, with the weight of comparison tied to your ankles and hoping to watch you trip.
A few weeks ago, I realized in the midst of a creating lull, that: if art imitates life, then the best thing I can do to grow in my skill and love for art is to spend more time living – offline and intentionally present. And, I read in a blog post by Josh Porter about fast fashion and it’s harmful affects on the planet (and not to mention it’s dissimilarity to the teachings of Jesus), that “less isn’t a rejection of the way things are, less is a better way to be human.”
So, after a few weeks’ break from social media, and having spent substantial time experimenting with my paintbrush, reading, and wondering if I’m sending birthday texts on the right day, I’m back. It feels good to be in touch with my friends and family, in-the-know regarding upcoming events, and aware of the menu for Lifegroup dinner on Wednesdays, but what’s even better, after a little time away, is feeling just a bit more human again.
The Renovation Project 