Stranded in the Land of Average

So Hedy, what's with all the crazy Facebook friend stats yesterday?

Like I said, I'm a little rusty.

And it's a journalism trick. When you're on deadline and scrambling for a story, start combing through available stats to make one.

It all started with that first guy - my married twice/divorced twice in five years friend. The emotional range on his posts went from:

"Well, that's the END of that one, goodBYE and good RIDDANCE, who knows a good lawyer?"

to:

"I met the LOVE of my LIFE. This is what TRUE HAPPINESS looks like."

I think he even threw in a SOUL MATE or two. He was married last Spring and about three months ago he was back to looking for a lawyer again. Let's call him The Golfer.

Then I noticed the guy who was all about being a Writer until he met his future fiance. Let's call him John. Every. Single. Post. Was something so cool - the latest script or story board he was working on. And he was religious about checking in at his weekly writer's group meeting. I was so envious. Until he met his girl. Let's call her Yoko. Now it's nothing but Happy Couple Restaurant Check-Ins. With his mother-in-law to be. Oh, and bits about the wedding registry/hall/church. I wonder if he's stopped writing completely or if he's just not posting about it anymore because he's so busy dining with Mrs. Glory Pants.

John and The Golfer got me thinking about what we put out there, how it changes over time, and how WE change over time. The stats thing was sort of a training wheels exercise for the larger theme.

If you're at all familiar with my other blog, you know that eventually, I'll get around to pointing all this mad speculation back at myself. It's so easy to point this analysis at the likes of John & Yoko. More challenging when applied to me. And more about that later.
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Also, two other things:

1) The friend analysis made me realize how few people I truly care about on Facebook and this helped with the summer separation anxiety.

2) The lack of diversity really bugged me.

If we lived in the city, would it be different?
If I didn't work from home would it be different?
If I wasn't Stranded in the Land of Average - the vast sprawl of white suburbia - would my list look different?

I like to think so. Maybe not.
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If my Facebook metadata story had a lede it would be pathetically close to a headline from The Onion.

"Caucasian Woman Compensates for Woefully Homogeneous Friends List by Posting Links about Minority and Gay Rights Every Day"

Or something.
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This is an exercise I learned from my therapist. We imagine what my life would be like if I'd made other (me, all judgy: "better, more responsible") choices. It's interesting because she says people tend to imagine the best case scenario:

• I never got married, live in the city and am part of a successful, extremely prolific, and diverse (ding ding ding) band of writers. I am a thin vegetarian who practices yoga every day and worries about her carbon footprint whilst traveling the world lecturing about environmentally conscious, vegetarian, yoga practicing writers. 
• I got married and we have two brilliant, talented and universally adored children. I have no idea how they found time to write an iPhone app that cures cancer in between being captain of the baseball basketball football soccer softball hockey teams and penning the only Pulitzer prize winning novel by a 'tween. Jim and I retire to the family beach condo on Maui. 
• I got married and we didn't have children. Jim and I spend all of our "extra" time screwing, traveling, and planning trips to exotic, screw-friendly locales. 

My therapist likes to point out the other scenarios:

• I never got married. I'm a fat, failed writer who lives a lonely life in the city.
• I got married and we had two stupid, ugly kids that we hate, which is okay, because they hate us too.
• I got married and we didn't have children. Jim and I become selfish idiots who only care about ourselves and our money, so we work long crazy hours and we're too tired to screw or travel. 

You know the reality is somewhere in between. And that's the whole point. It's never as good or as bad as we imagine it. 

Recognizing that this version, this life right now, is better than I could have planned or imagined is what a year in therapy will do for you. 

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I am reading: Little Bee by Chris Cleave
I am listening to: Very quiet, puppy-free house
And I am: No longer stranded