In The Washington Post, a fellow Baby Boomer narrates his horror at what occurred when he friended family members on Facebook. Those relations ranged from close to obscure.
Well, that wasn't my experience. Born into a highly dysfunctional family, from the get-go in my early adulthood, I knew to keep the hell away from each and every member. With one exception: my younger sister, Anne Murga-Ring. Before I did, she realized we were not good for each other. When I sent a request to her son, Jonathan Murga, to friend him on Facebook, there was no response.
Unfortunately, I lacked that same intuitive grasp of human nature when it came to friends. I don't blame myself. We Baby Boomers were the first generation to make our friends, not blood family, our support system. In September 1963, when I arrived from Jersey City, New Jersey to the rural campus of Seton Hill, Greensburg, Pennsylvania, until The Great Unfriending in May 2014, I believed all the platitudes about friendship. Particularly "old friends." There were certainly many of those from 51 years ago.
I will spare you the details of the horror. The only experience more terrifying emotionally was meeting up with one of those "old friends" in person, when I relocated to the Southwest. Still, I have flashbacks. A shrink predicts it will take another year to heal.
Isn't the brutal reality that we have very few authentic friends in a lifetime? And those who do come into our little lives might not remain a good fit. Perhaps every few months we should be taking an audit of friendships, asking: "Is this helping me become a better, more productive human being?"