Sharing is caring. I'm not sure if I ever really subscribed to that idea or if I was just caught up in the hype. When I discovered Instagram, I loved it for but yet haven't opened it in almost two years. Fake, materialistic and constantly wanting to one up left me exhausted. Facebook, I still check regularly and I finally saw some real use come of it in the wake of hurricane Irma. But on a whole I secretly long to deactivate it, save the cute memory pictures that pop up of the kids. I don't share those because face it, we all have our own cute little memories and that's just it,.. it is my cute and that's not necessarily yours. I feel like it's a looking glass with the depth of a puddle.

The real reason for not blogging these past months, is the lack of connection. Look at me, look at me, look at this little part of me, is not me. It's not authentic. Seeing small, minute details of someone's life is not the same as knowing them or valuing them or even understanding them. Connection and understanding are my love and lust. To get to that requires depth.That seems the hardest to find, when everyone seems to want publicity instead of caring, followers instead of friends, lackeys instead of siblings, personal assistants instead of parenting partners.

To reach depths, you have to be willing to go there yourself. You have to find yourself searching for the other's meaning. I haven't been able to, because I haven't wanted to. Hard decisions and, to some, even the really important ones, hard actions and sharp lines drawn in the dirt. Because it means at least for a time, completely separating from all the ballast. Social media, snapshots, edited posts, acquaintances, polite chitchat do more than tire me. It saps the life out of me. All the casual sharing leaves me buzzed and exhausted and I can't find my depth, much less yours.

I feel like I'm wasting time, drowning in the shallows, while yearning for depth.Worrying if I should accept that friend request from that person I have no clue of, trying to smile and be friendly with or avoid the moms who seem to flock to the midday school-close like a social gathering but who can never remember your name, trying to muster the interest in attending the next work reception, fretting if I need to make more posts whether I feel like sharing or not, agonising over explaining me for the umpteenth time to people with hidden agenda's and no matching depth. Sharing everything from the smallest detail to the deepest thought. Sharing is fatiguing. To the point, where I'm not sure what to share or even if I want to share..

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