Facebook, who cares about me and my memories (and I thank God that I did not seriously suffer in the last seven years so that I am happy to remember all the stuff that Facebook wants to call to my mind; every morning I look at their chosen memory I try to pray a quiet prayer for anyone out there who opens his feed, or indeed hers, and is reminded of something devastating; seriously, I am one tragedy away from getting off Facebook forever) reminded me of this (Bwahaaaaaa):
“As I fall asleep, I am vaguely irritated with Facebook for using the word “story” to describe whatever it is on earth that we’re doing here. No, I don’t want to see 2 new “stories”. I am interested in the pictures, links and one or two line comments that everyone is so busy posting, but none of them qualify for the word “story”. I’m turning this off and reading a book in French. So there, Facebook.”
That’s from 2011 and yet, you’ll be surprised to know, the sentiment holds true and fresh right this very moment, except for reading a book in French because I’m reading a stack of books in English.
Anyway, enough of that, on to more important news. Did you know that Brangelina broke up? I knew, of course, because my husband told me so as soon as it happened. He has better Facebook friends than I do and his let him know. My Facebook friends (Whom I All Love) never let me down in the way of food and archeology, but somehow did not alert me to this important cultural event. I had to go over to Vox to learn all about about it.
Vox’s fascinating analysts? What they crafted as Brangelina was bigger and more consequential than what they each were on their own. Um. Yeah. That’s what happens. And yet, of course, we do get hung up on the word “crafted” don’t we, and are not terribly surprised by their downfall, because they did invent themselves as an entity, and they were very culturally good and pure, and managed to shift attention away from salacious gossipy adultery to humanitarian something or other. But all that was not enough to make the vain social signaling fairytale last forever. How Could This Happen!?
What, in this difficult time, is the world going to do? How will we go on with each separated from the other? Who will they invent themselves to be? How will humanity go on? All these questions swirl in the devastation broken dreams. I guess we will have to wait and find out what they make of their lives.
My own husband pointed out to me, a week or so ago, that marriage gets more interesting as you go along because each person carries on with his or her own life and interests. I have become quirkier and more distinct than I was fifteen years ago. My personality has shifted and changed. Whereas before we were melded and indistinguishable, or rather undefined, now, though our edges have softened, the lines are clear and visible. Which is what happens the longer you know and love God. The closer in and further up you go towards the great vast perfection of Jesus, the more defined and clear you become as a person. You don’t get subsumed. You don’t lose your personhood. In losing your life and taking up your cross your peculiar distinction as an individual gradually becomes clearer to the spiritually discerning eye. And this isn’t crafted by you so much as it emerges from the crucible of love and suffering.
Have a lovely day, and don’t give up on your marriage. Pip pip.
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