As summer days passed and friend requests poured in, it didn’t matter that I’d never met these people, because soon we’d be on campus together at Northwestern. When I landed at O’Hare that September, I met a girl who had seen my profile and wanted to introduce herself. Later, when I walked in on her in bed with a dormmate, she told me, “Don’t be awkward.” After all, we’d already met on Facebook.
As Facebook grew up alongside us, it improved our collective social lives—all 1,042 friends of mine and counting. I can’t go to a sorority formal or football game without photos from the event winding up on Facebook, uploaded by me or a friend. Sure, it may be overly indulgent, and some of the pictures are unflattering, but this constant chronicling of life eliminates the secret diary or crafty scrapbook. Before Facebook, I may have written some words in my journal about a wild night in Chicago; now my friends and I are building each other’s collective stories one photo, caption and poke at a time.
Facebook is my personal assistant, allowing me to catch up on my social life without telephone tag, awkward lunches and five-, 10-, 15-year reunions. We write on each other’s Wall, a message board, when we want to say happy birthday without singing into an answering machine. When I’m having a hectic week at my internship, I can change my status so that people know why I haven’t returned their telephone calls—much better than wasting time calling people to tell them you’re too busy to talk.
It may seem artificial that I don’t have to go out of my way to get in touch. But in the end, I’ve beaten the system. I have more time for my closest friends, those whose relationships transcend computers. And Facebook enriches those close friendships: when a best friend changed her dating status from “In a Relationship” to “Single,” I brought over a movie, one that she had listed as a fave.
You’ve heard criticism that Facebook makes us robotic, but history shows we’ve always feared new communication tools. In 360 B.C., Plato criticized writing, saying that it would induce forgetfulness; 2,200 years later, the telephone was seen as invasive and unnecessary. Mark Zuckerberg is no more, or no less, than the next Samuel Morse or Alexander Graham Bell. We all want to interact as best we can, and Facebook allows us to do that. That said, if you’re thinking of friending me after reading this, you should know: I’m not in the market for any more friends.
