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I need to fix me

I need to fix me.

That sounds sappy. Love Guru sorta thing. But, truly, I need to fix me.

I bring this up after a long talk with the wife this evening, about social media and the need to engage and engage and engage. Today, in particular, was sorta ugly, in that I felt compelled to engage on something dumb Tweeted by a former Major Leaguer named Aubrey Huff.

Why enter a fray? Honestly, I don’t know. A desire to be heard? Perhaps. Boredom during long writing days? Certainly possible. An inane craving for attention? Gotta be a part of it.

Whatever the case, I’m sick of me and social media. Truly, truly, truly, truly sick of me and social media. It’s an addiction, of sorts. Not crack or cigarettes, but something equally distracting and hard to shake. Back in the olden days, when I needed a break from writing, I’d take a walk, read a book, pet the dog, go to the couch and watch TV. Now, I stay in one place and Tweet, or update Facebook. It’s preposterous, and stupid, and would probably be far more embarrassing were it not such a widespread problem.

My wife often says to me, “You’re a nice guy—why do you want to come off that way?” And it’s a question without an easy-to-offer answer. Why? Wish I knew. Truly, wish I knew. But something inside of me feels broken, and I need to fix it. Maybe that’s therapy. Maybe it’s a stricter adherence to discipline. Maybe it’s simply thinking whether I want to be attached to something this juvenile and pathetic—merely in the name of re-Tweets and viral high fives …

Well, I just deleted that Tweet.

And starting right now, at this moment, I’m deleting my approach to social media. Or at least drastically changing it.

First, I’ll be gone until next week. I’m not Tweeting, not reading Twitter. Nothing.

Second, I’m done with arguments here. You wanna slam me? Slam me. It’s your right. But you won’t get an angry reply.

Lastly, I want to be better. A better person. A better role model to my kids. I’m a writer. Not a Tweeter. I write books and articles, and I love it. But this shit is just soul-sucking inanity. Who am I helping? What am I benefitting? Besides PR during book release time, what’s the gain?

I always urge Casey and Emmett to get out, see the world, run, smell, eat, dance.

It’s time I follow my own advice.

It’s time I fix me.

PS: And, yes, I have made pledges like this before. But I’m in genuine pain.

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