Connection, Schmonnection

I came across this quote this week on BookRiot from Pulitzer prize-winning author Jennifer Egan (author of A Visit From the Goon Squad and The Keep:) 

But, she said, the “fetishization of connection itself” fascinated her.


“Who cares that we can connect?” she said. “What’s the big deal? I think Facebook is colossally dull. I think it’s like everyone coming to live in a huge Soviet apartment block, [in] which everyone’s cell looks exactly the same.”


I'm getting sick of Facebook myself.  But I can't cut the cord yet.  I keep thinking I'll miss out, be even more out of the loop than I already am as a new mother.  Plus, honestly, I like showing off pictures of my cute baby boy!  But half the time it's just updates about what so-and-so's listening to on Spotify (turn off notifications, dude!) and updates from people I don't actually TALK to, you know, with my VOICE, like EVER.  So I'm mulling it over.  I think I need to impose a limit on myself about checking Facebook, and then it wouldn't get on my nerves so badly.  If someone really needs to contact me, what the heck's wrong with email?  Or a phone call? 

Half the time I don't want to be "connected" anyway.  Not in the modern sense.  I want connection that involves hearing a friend's voice or sitting across a room from someone, sharing our lives over cups of tea and baked goods.  With a squirmy, squeaky baby rolling around on the floor between us, of course.