Since deactivating my Twitter account two weeks ago, the following reflections have come to me:
- If there were any question before that my relationship with Twitter was addictive, now that it’s gone, I have zero doubt. It seems to me that sometimes you can’t tell how hooked you are until you’re off the hook.
- I had a truly comforting thought a few days ago: Right now, there’s someone on Twitter saying wrong things, and I can’t see it or respond to it. There’s a genuine peace right there.
- I’m emailing individuals more, since I can’t Tweet them. It feels warmer and more personal to me, especially to email someone I haven’t met, just to tell them I appreciate their work or a note of encouragement. I know that technically speaking an email is just as ephemeral as a Tweet, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way.
- I’ve felt more compelled to write and more able to do so in twitter’s absence. In fact, I recently wrote a piece for TGC that I consider the best thing I’ve ever sent to them–owing partly, I suspect, to mental channels that aren’t nearly as clogged with minutiae.
- Not being able to Tweet out my blogs is a bummer. It’s exposed the conflict in me between the writer and the publicist, the person who wants to write from the soul and the person who wants to write so other people will tell me I’m a good writer. Like I said in point #1, I don’t know how aware of this I would be if I still had Twitter. For that reason alone, I think deactivating was a good move.