30 Day Writing Challenge: Five Problems with Social Media

In an effort to motivate myself to write more purposefully and more regularly, I am embarking on a 30-day writing challenge for the month of May. Each day will have a different topic. Sometimes I will write fiction, other times non-fiction, and sometimes a blend of both. Without further ado, on to today's topic.

Remember those retro anti-drug commercials? The ones with the cracked eggs on the scorching hot pavement? "This is your brain ... this is your brain on drugs." I would be interested to see that same advertisement updated for 2016. 

"This is your brain on Twitter." Close-up shot of a mom, sitting in a park while her kids play on the playground. They shout for her to watch them play, sliding down the slides, hanging from the monkey bars. She nods, shouting words of encouragement, not looking up from her phone. She has seen them slide a million times; it can only be so interesting. She scrolls through her Twitter feed. Unlike her day-to-day stay-at-home mom routine, her Twitter feed is always changing. No two tweets are the same. And boy are those celebrities hilarious! And the cryptic Twitter fights, random people airing out their dirty laundry in 140 characters? You can't make this stuff up! She laughs at the latest update, when her youngest falls and scrapes his knee. She waves her hand and tells him to walk it off.

"This is your brain on Snapchat." A teenage girl squeals with glee when she sees the notification. He added her on Snapchat! The boy, the football player, the one in her math class. She's had a crush on him all year and he just recently started showing her the time of day. She's never had a boyfriend, but she has high hopes. He sends her a snap, a smiling selfie with a simple caption. She sends him a selfie back, emojis attached. They message for weeks, start sitting next to each other in class. She hopes that he'll ask her to prom. It's Sunday night, late. They're still up, snapping back and forth. She's starting to fall asleep when he snaps a photo of him in bed. "Wish you were here..." he writes. She laughs, doesn't respond. He sends another. "I want to see you naked." He hasn't even asked her on a date.

"This is your brain on Instagram." The shot. A man, 20-something, sitting in his mechanic coverall, covered in grease on his lunch break. He scrolls through his feed, picture after picture. He lands on another update from Steve. He knew this guy in high school, he was a real jerk back then. Maybe he still is, but the man doesn't know - he hasn't seen him in a decade. He sees yet another shot of Steve and his family on their yacht. This time they're in the Bahamas. Steve's an investment banker, making six figures, always dressed to the nines and posting pictures of his family's elaborate vacations or expensive hobbies. He's either yachting or golfing or watching his kids jump their horses over fences. The man puts his phone away, dejectedly staring down into his bowl of Ramen noodles. He eyes the grease under his fingernails as he wipes the tears from his eyes. The bell rings; his break is over. Back to work. There are mouths to feed.

"This is your brain on Facebook." "Oh man! Look at this idiot!" A group of guys sit at a table in a Coffee Shop, each one on their phones. "You've gotta see this, it's hilarious!" Their conversation is a rotating routine of sharing memes and gifs, laughing at haircuts/outfits/comments from people they once knew, and fighting with strangers under the false security of anonymity. They have forgotten how to converse without the assistance of social media. "Did you see what so-and-so posted the other day?" They laugh and slap hands as they take turns insulting others through the safety of their small screens. They post political rants, replying to those they disagree with, calling them every harsh name in the book, chuckling all the while, forgetting that each profile picture represents a human being with their own life, their own story. 

"This is your brain on Tumblr." A young man opens up his laptop, intending to do his ENG 101 homework, but is briefly distracted by his home page, full of pictures and posts that offer a blend of humor and insight. He scrolls and scrolls, justifying the distraction by claiming to himself that the diatribes of others are educational. Logically, he knows everyone who posts isn't an expert on the subject about which they are speaking, and yet his brain accepts everything they say as gospel. He comes to realize he should be offended by all of these things he was not offended by before, because if he's not then that means he is racist/sexist/hateful/phobic/prejudiced/ignorant/naive/selfish/prideful/evil/etc. He starts to post on his own account, complaining about his every day life, pointing out injustices, lured into the trap, believing that his incessant posting is actually accomplishing something to better the society in which we live. Still, he falls behind on his homework, he does not watch or listen to the news, and despite his rantings and ravings, when voting day arrives, he doesn't bother sending in his ballot. 

Image courtesy of uknowkids.com.