The Cultivation of the Fragile Ego

I wish I had the courage to delete my Facebook account.  The past few days I’ve realized how unbelievably self-centered I’ve become when logging on Facebook, twitter, gmail, whatever.  I’m constantly playing a game of ego-roulette.  The rich, bold text of a new e-mail, the velvety red of a Facebook notification, the @Konkdaddy  mention in a follower’s re-tweet, all serve one purpose: to fuel my fragile ego.

There is certainly no other reason to have these accounts and avatars other than for me to feel connected and important.  And like many others, I have become addicted to the serotonin-releasing rush of instant feedback.  Did you like that comment I made?  Do you like me?  Will you keep me safe?  Are you my mommy?  If so, what’s for dinner?  Aww…beans again?

This is why social media sites can be absolutely devastating to a comedian.  Recently, I’ve found myself exerting more mental energy on constructing clever tweets than I have on writing new actual jokes or going to open mics.  Somehow my work ethic has become more passive.  I’m content with throwing out
140 character life lines into the sea and hoping for a boat to sail by and pick me up.  But this sea of comedy is dark, rough and doesn’t understand or care what disappoints me.  I should be struggling to survive.  I should be murdering sharks with my bare hands, lashing their floating carcasses together with their own fibrous sinews and sailing to shore.  Tell me that woudn’t be an awesome opening scene to a movie!

I delete my account.  What’s the worse that could happen?  I’d be a little bit out of the loop but I’d be off of the grid!  I could take time to find happiness within myself!

So what if I wouldn’t be able to see pictures of friends’ Halloween costumes or stay in tune with what everyone thinks about #KimKardashiandivorce.  So what if I wouldn’t know when people are engaged or ever see pictures of anyone’s babies?  So what if I’d have to physically remember 400 people’s birthdays and pray to God that a notification reminds me about my Mom’s.  So what if I’d have to deal with the fact that I wouldn’t get any party invitations in the mail. So what if the effort it would take for my friends to keep me up to speed would slowly cause our relationships to die on the vine, withering away like a stubborn tomato in the frost.

Wait…OK nevermind.  I’m back in.  I can’t bring myself to do quit.  Maybe when In-Q-Tel finally merges with Facebook and sells all my information to the CIA…then I’ll reconsider.