Marissa Wolfe: The Immersive Experience

I just...don’t care anymore.

I don’t care about your sandwich. I don’t care about your selfie. Yeah, your kid is cute, but I don’t need to see twenty pictures of them picking up a shell. Glad you had a good time at the beach, though.

Why do I need to know how everyone feels about everything all the time? The kid that sat behind me in algebra is “woke” now. The algebra teacher, not so much. The girl who rode my bus, she thinks this group of people are stupid. My great-uncle? Well, he thinks people who think like the girl who rode my bus are stupid, too. Does having a soapbox matter when everyone has one? Hold on a second, I need to respond to this- my former co-worker just “Okay, Boomer”-ed my mom’s cousin and I need to break this up before it gets messy.

I’m offended! You’re offended! We’re offended! Come get in on some of this outrage, folks! There’s plenty for everybody!

Ah, yes. The people I hung out with prior to marriage and children. I see you’re all still having a great time. Haven’t heard from you in a while, but it’s fine. I’m fine. Totally not bitter at all. You did what? With who? Why did you put that online? Well, now I feel like I know too much. You know that’s there forever, right?

Wait, how do you know who I am? Oh, one of my friends shared a post. Did you really just like that photo? I posted that two years ago…how long have you been looking at my profile? I’d prefer it if you’d not send me pictures of your…aroused state.

We haven’t talked in several years? There’s probably a reason for that. Hey- I wonder what that girl from my neighborhood is up to. Quick search says she moved back home and is a hairstylist. Damn good one, too. Her sister? She works at a restaurant. They both look pretty much the same as they did fifteen years ago. I can’t believe I found out so much so fast. That’s unsettling.

Am I that visible too?

I don’t have to see that much of people.

I don’t want people to see that much of me.

Not everyone needs to see my joy and my sorrow. Not everyone needs to share in my success or play spectator to my failure.

My experiences are beautiful, but they are precious, sacred. A gift for those I choose to share them with. My life is not an exhibition for passerby to ogle and critique.

So why did I put myself on display?

And how, despite all my frustrations, did I get so caught up in the exhibition of others?