Finally Determined: TBD, Facebook, and Girls Gone Mild

I’m not the most social animal you’ll ever meet.

Just ask…

Okay, there are a couple of people you could ask. 

My oldest/dearest would regale you with stories of sardonic avoidance.  While she’s talking though, remember she’s not exactly the life of the party herself.  We met at work.  I believe the ice-breaker was a question about fellatio.  That kind of thing will bond a girl…

My “Spirit Mother”, a Native-American woman who tackled the job of growing me up within months of my thirtieth birthday, will tell you it’s a ruse.  She’ll dub me magnanimous and explain, in great detail, the ways in which I’ve proven the depth of my caring, my intelligence, and the innate generosity of my nature. 

And, they’d both be right…depending on the day, my level of self-confidence, and the number of days since I’ve been alone.

Really alone.

Because, I have to be. 

Not all the time.  Everyone knows doing anything all the time is unhealthy.

But I need it some of the time. 

Strange as it may sound, being alone actually takes me outside myself.  When forced to associate for days on end, my emotions become jumbled.  Thinking becomes hard, and sleep, evasive.

Alone time, whether spent writing, reading, or inside the cocoon provided by nose-cancelling earbuds, allows my mind to rest, to find space for the tornadic detritus produced by the effort of showing up.

And, speaking of showing up…

Almost five years ago, I joined a social website on a whim.  I’d been surfing the internet, for what I don’t remember.  But, I came across an advertisement for a social website built for Boomers. 

I’m a Boomer…barely.  It gives me a modicum of comfort to be able to say that I qualify by just a few months. 

I joined.  I conjured a catchy screen-name and used, as an avatar, a photograph taken by my daughter.

Photogenic, I am not.  My daughter caught me on an upswing…literally.  The photograph was taken while I shared the porch swing with my eldest son.  He always makes me smile.  She clicked at just the right time. 

Over several years, for several hours, several days a week, I forged relationships with people in exotic places like Goshen, New York, Lincoln, Nebraska, and Sydney, Australia. 

And we shared.  We learned about families, argued about politics, supported artistic effort, and congratulated achievement. 

And we laughed.  We told jokes, poked fun, and honed our already razor-sharp, sarcastic wits into instruments of cohesive amusement. 

And we played…really played…like children play…with abandon, and the certainty that tomorrow, after the responsibilities of “real” life were met, the gang would be there, and we would play again.

And, speaking of real life... 

Websites cost money, and ours wasn’t making any.  Despite our founder’s best efforts, our playground closed.  Seeing the handwriting on the “wall”, several of us joined Facebook in an effort to maintain contact.  And then, a few more joined.

“And they told two friends, and they told two friends, and so on, and so on…”

It’s not the same, but its okay.  And, when I think about it, I’m amazed.  We come from very different backgrounds, different demographics, and various socio-economic strata.  We are African-American.  We are Asian.  We are Christian.  We are Agnostic.  We are musicians.  We are Stay-At-Home-Moms. We are self-employed.  We are grandfathers.  We are disabled.  We are yoga instructors.  We love music, sports, and high-heels. 

Well, not all of us love sports, but high-heels suffer no such prejudice.

We do all the things we did before, only now we do it under the watchful eye of “3D” family and friends, who read our walls in amazement at the bonds we’ve forged with people far-flung in so many ways. 

A couple of years ago, one of our group suggested a meet-up.  Meeting at the beach, combined with the aforementioned wit, suggested the title “Girls Gone Mild”.  This year, regardless of social ineptitude, I’m one of the girls.

I’d tell you I’m excited, but the word isn’t big enough.  I’d say I’m nervous, but that word suggests anxiety...

Okay, I’m anxious. 

There are the pounds put on as a result of dying glands and overworked ovaries. And, there’s my hair.  It’s long now.  He likes it that way.  But the color’s all wrong and, in this heat, it hangs.

And there are the shoes.  We’re going to the beach.  No one wears heels at the beach…but I’ve got this reputation. 

For days now, sleep has been elusive. Last night, after what seemed like hours, I finally turned the clock around to see “4:15”, large, blue, and LCD.    I’d been awake for a while.  The alarm was set to go off in forty-five minutes.  I gave up.

A double-click opened my home page.  It had been hours since any of my friends posted.  I scrolled and read, and didn’t think I’d given myself away, but a red “1” lurking over the message box said different.

“What’re you doing up?”

That’s when I realized that since joining “TBD”, I’ve never, really, been alone.

And, they’ve made all the difference.

© Copyright 2007-2011 Stacye Carroll All Rights Reserved