Muscle Memory

I was experiencing a moment of boredom. I’d been thinking about a task I’ve been procrastinating on. Rather than engage with the task, I wanted a way out of my discomfort—and my muscles knew what to do.

Instinctively, my hands reached out towards my keyboard. Mindlessly, I started typing.

facebo-

[Enter.]

I woke up from my absentmindedness and found myself staring at Facebook’s login page.

Oh, right: I deleted my Facebook the other day.

I had never been a heavy Facebook user, but for the past few years, all I ever did was open Facebook once in a while, see whether today’s notification was about something interesting—inevitably it wasn’t—and then get the hell out of there.

Still, the engineers at Facebook managed to get me addicted. Not addicted to spending a lot of time on Facebook, but at least to accessing the site repeatedly, even if just for ten seconds.

Today though, they didn’t even get their ten seconds. Like I said, I deleted my Facebook the other day. It took me a while to build up the courage to do so, but now I see there was nothing to be scared of. Facebook wasn’t contributing anything to my life—I was only supporting their shitty business model.

I deleted my LinkedIn too. I don’t have anything against LinkedIn as a company, but there wasn’t any value for me there, either.

With fewer places to subconsciously reach for when I feel uncomfortable, I’m forced to accept that discomfort more often and figure out what’s really going on. That’s a win.