“Goodbye, Instagram” … Two Years Later

22 Monday Aug 2022

Tags

Contentment, delete instagram, quit instagram, social media

I wanted to hop on here to commemorate the day that I ditched Instagram. And to reflect, once again, on what life is like without it–this time two years later instead of just two months.

I had my reasons for saying goodbye to the ‘gram:

The instant/constant nature of the beast
The time-sink
Low return on investment for blog traffic
Seeing a friend’s reasons for leaving gave me permission to hop off, too

You can read explanations of each of those points in my original post here.

[Aside: I’ve realized in further reflection that the politicization of everything is another reason I got off. But the explanation of that point would require an entire blog post in itself. I’ll save that for another day. Maybe.]

Lately I’ve felt a little twinge of nostalgia for those square pictures. I remember the reasons I was on there for about two years before I quit…

I wanted to drive some traffic to my blog
It was fun to see beautiful pictures of books, kids, planners, educational quotes, etc
It was fun to share those sometimes random, precious, and/or entertaining moments with others
It was easier to write an encouraging or thoughtful caption than to write and edit a blog post–so I was at least getting some ideas and inspiration out there more often

quit instagram two years later social media

So, does the potential for good outweigh the bad? Will I be giving it another go?

No.

Definitely not.

Those feelings of nostalgia aren’t necessarily bad, but they are misplaced. I want my emotional energy to be primarily directed to the people in my family, my church, my broader local community. I don’t need to build up more nostalgia for a social media platform. I need to invest in building up emotional ties where they really matter.

“Where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” Jesus is talking about the love of money vs. the love of God, but I think the principle applies just as well to how we spend our time and attention. What we care about we invest in, and what we invest in we care about.

The nostalgia isn’t a reason for getting back on. It’s yet another reason for staying away.

All of my original reasons for quitting Instagram are still valid. And in the two years I’ve been off, I am finding that I’m growing in several areas:

Contentment–It’s easier to enjoy the sometimes random, precious, and entertaining moments for what they are if I’m not wrestling with an urge to make them public. Not to mention, it’s a lot harder to compare yourself to air-brushed standards of parenting, beauty, organization, you-name-it if you aren’t looking at them. With that surface-level of discontentment stripped away, I’ve found deeper layers of it that needed to be dealt with. And I’m growing.
Focus–There are plenty of things vying for my attention. Having one less of them does, in fact, make a difference.
Detaching from social media in general–I’m still on Facebook, but not very often. I’m still on Scholé Sistership, but it has a limited Christian homeschool mom focus, few pictures, and is a uniquely edifying community.
Growing in self-control–I mentioned last time using the Freedom app to help limit time on social platforms. I don’t use the app any more. Practicing self-control (by the grace of God) and growing in renewed affections for doing what needs to be done have me in a place where I don’t need the training wheels anymore.
Growing in strength of will–Making decisions is easier when I’ve eliminated an entire category of potential decisions to make. I strengthen my will every time I exercise it in choosing to do the next right thing rather than scrolling a platform where “the next thing” is up to an algorithm. We train ourselves into habits, but our habits can also train us.

Even with some nostalgia, even though I still appreciate seeing new baby pics and other updates from friends on Facebook, I’m just less and less interested in social media in general. I’ve considered ditching it altogether. Maybe someday I will. I sure won’t be signing up for the Metaverse when it drops. No, thank you.

Please don’t mistake this for an anti-technology post. Here’s the deal. Technology is a blessing but it comes with risks, too. We each have to run our own cost-benefit analysis. Your particular situation may cause you to answer the social media question differently than I do. And that’s fine. Coming up with one rule for everyone isn’t the point.

The point is to wisely evaluate how we spend our time and attention, especially when it comes to apps that are designed to suck as much of both of them out of us as possible.

If you’ve been itching to get off of a social media platform and wonder if it’ll be alright, wonder if you can manage, wonder if it’s possible to live in the 21st century without it, let this post be a bit of encouragement to do what you need to do.

Yes, it will be ok.

There is life after Instagram. Real life. And it’s good. Don’t let peer pressure (or those “your friends will miss you” pre-programmed scripts) keep you from making a decision you know is right for you.

Two years later I’m still glad I ditched the ‘gram. No regrets, my friends. No regrets.

For more, see my original post [Real] Life After Instagram.

On Being “At Home”

02 Monday Mar 2020

Posted by Lauren Scott in Home and Family

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Body Image, Christian life, Christian Women, Contentment, faith, Gratitude, Heaven, Home and Family, Thankfulness

Some days the house just gets to me. Too many unfinished projects, too much clutter, too much to clean.

Life gets to me. When will I ever find the time or the willpower to drop those 20 pounds and feel strong again?

The temptation to despair of life in this body, in this house, arises from thoughts like these. And that’s ok, right? Because I’m supposed to be looking forward to my eternal home. So this hum-glum existence until then is just par for the course. A right of passage, you might say.

Or is it?

After recently wrestling through such thoughts, I’ve come to see that in order to be actually looking forward to our eternal home, we need to learn to be grateful for the home we’re in now. Let me back up a couple weeks to explain…

I stand at the window on a crisp, February morning, staring out through two panes of glass into 30-degree weather.

And I am warm.

This is a good house.

It’s a timely reminder that halts the grumbly thoughts in my head, and I take a deep breath. The knots on my forehead begin to unravel.

As I consider the cold that I am not feeling, I begin to notice how my hands are resting firmly–one on the window sill and the other against the corner of the wall, framing the window. I take a moment to really feel that wall.

It’s sturdy. It’s withstood 70-mile-per-hour winds and little boys ramming into it.

This is a good house.

In the midst of the mess and hustle and bustle of a family that lives, learns, and works at home, and especially ten months into a “five-week” exterior remodeling project, it can be hard to enjoy just being at home.

It can be hard to see the beauty in the home that I’m making when unfinished projects crowd my view. But if I take a moment to sit and observe–not with a critical eye and a running to-do list but rather with eyes enlightened by grace–I begin to see not my work nor my lack of work but gifts of God.

I can wonder at how well we are provided for. Not only by my husband but by the mind-blowing development of things like running water, central heating, and washing machines. And the incredible blessing of dirty little hands, red cheeks and noses, and piles of clothes that signify the beautifully rambunctious lives that fill this place.

There’s another temporary house I’ve been given, and sometimes (many times?) I look at it with the same kind of scrutinizing fix-it-up mentality that I use to greet my dirty linoleum-tile kitchen floor.

My body isn’t as young or strong or capable as it once was. My knees give me trouble, and I’m currently four weeks into a bout with some combination of cold, allergies, bronchitis, and asthma. I’m well enough to function, but I’m not functioning well.

While there’s work to be done for my health and strength (and time required for recovery), I’m finding that there’s also a desperate need to learn to rest–not just physically, but to simply be in this body, just as I have to learn to be in my home, dilapidated as each may seem.

Whatever degradation may come, this body has run races and climbed mountains.

This body has carried, birthed, and nursed two sons–not without complications, but still, it has.

This body has given hugs and held hands.

And it still seems to get me from point A to point B pretty effectively.

It can still kneel prayer, sing in worship, and offer hands to serve.

It’s a good body.

It’s a good gift.

If we are to serve the Lord with gladness there is a real sense in which we need to learn to be at home in our houses and in our bodies. Not in some self-exalting or self-excusing way, but in a very real and contented and Christian way. We need to learn to be at home in our houses and bodies because they are the primary places and primary tools we have for worship and service. And they are gifts that the Lord not only gives but also fills.

He’s not afraid of nor ashamed of broken vessels. In fact, He delights to redeem them.

My house, my body–these are places to be filled with the grace and love and Spirit of Christ. They are not forever, of course. They are a mere shadow of things to come. But as we embrace the “homes” that our Father has graciously given now and by faith see how He transforms and fills them, we are in a better position to truly appreciate and anticipate the Kingdom Home He is preparing for us–a new creation and a resurrected body that are both whole and wholly filled with His presence.

Too often we look with discontentment at our earthly state and say with a grumble, “Well, I’m glad I’ll get a new body and a new home someday.”

But the eyes of faith see the good in God’s gifts both now and in eternity–because the eyes of faith focus more on the goodness of God Himself than on the frailty of our here-and-now. We need not spurn His hand in this life in order to treasure it in the next.

May we have such eyes to see and receive God’s gracious provision–to be at home where He has us now, gladly doing His will until He calls us to that better Home in glory.