Do you remember when...?

I just lost 30 minutes of my life to someone else’s Facebook page.

It’s odd. I saw a notification about two birthdays today and thought, “Who is that? I don’t recognize that name.” I am fairly finicky about who I friend on the ‘book. If I don’t know you (or don’t remember you), it’s hard to get past my filter.

I clicked on the name. Our paths crossed decades ago and diverged when I moved to Virginia and she to the Midwest. Since then, she has had a kid, been divorced, earned at least one other degree, and changed careers. And gotten a tattoo. And apparently been through hell with the kid.

I considered reaching out to wish her a happy birthday. After all, the ‘book makes it easy to do. You click a button and type a message and boom, your wishes are on the wall for all to see.

I stopped. Did I want to revive this connection?

A recent experience has me rethinking our ability to instantaneously reach out and connect with people from our past. Someone from my past (whom I had completely forgotten even existed) contacted me to apologize for mistreating me (an event that I had completely forgotten even happened).

At first, I was flattered that the person reached out and felt the need to say something. I was important! I made a difference in someone’s life! But the more I thought about it, the more it bothered me. The apology dredged up an experience I had forgotten and had no desire to relive. The apology turned and turned in my mind, reminding me of the person I used to be and the decisions I made back then.

I realized that they were just apologizing to feel better about themselves. I was merely a vehicle for their peace of mind. Or perhaps a step to take on a larger, multistep journey.

We all play this role at times. Some of us play it more often than others. I have rarely been asked for forgiveness in a way that seemed important to the person asking. I usually find myself on the other end. The situations I screwed up, the words that jumped out of my mouth before I had a chance to temper them, the actions I regret—they are on an endless loop in my head. I replay them at night when I’m trying to sleep or when I’m stopped at a red light, staring at the cars going by. They can be triggered by a song, video clip, or someone else’s social media post.

The ‘book makes it so easy to reach back, recall a memory, find a person involved, and get back in touch with them. When I’ve heard that song, read that post, or otherwise been transported to a specific time and place with a specific person, I’ve often sent a message or posted somewhere about it. But until this experience, I never stopped to think about how my missive might be received—that it might not be welcome at all.

It’s no secret that I hold on to friendships for a long, long time. But years ago, I realized that many times, I was holding on to the friendship or relationship from the past. I wasn’t seeing my friends in the present. I was in love with the people they used to be. And those people didn’t exist any more.

As well they shouldn’t. We all deserve the chance to grow into different versions of ourselves.

Now, I temper these instincts to reach out. Am I doing it just to serve myself in some way? Will my reaching out hurt the person or bring up memories they don’t want to relive? Why am I searching for that connection? What am I really searching for?

These are tough questions to answer, and I freely admit that I’m not always self-aware enough to ask them. But I try. The driver is often loneliness. In spite of a house full of quarantined folks, it is easy to feel isolated. After all, work is just me, the machine, and Slack.

Refraining from reaching out and connecting is the opposite of what all these social media companies want. We are supposed to be triggered to make connections and post random thoughts and memories that roll through our brains. Our posting and tagging and connecting drives ad revenue.

In the end, I didn’t reach out. I didn’t wish her a happy birthday. Don’t get me wrong. I hope she has a wonderful day. But we have both grown into different people over the past two decades. And that’s enough.