Resisting the Urge to Curate

So last night, this happened on Facebook:

Actual internal conversation I just had with myself: Was Ben Franklin a US President? I can’t believe I don’t know this. I should ask FB. No, I should wikipedia it. No, I should Google it. Wait. He is on money. Only dead presidents are on money. Ok. Whew.

Within minutes, I was served notice (kindly, mind you) of my multiple errors of 1) Ben Franklin NOT being a US President, 2) dead presidents NOT having exclusivity on currency, 3) relying on Notorious BIG/Puff Daddy (he was still going by Puff Daddy at the time) and Jay-Z songs as legitimate resources regarding money, and 4) me NOT fact checking and drawing from my pathetic and faulty “knowledge” of US history.

My UCLA education hard at work. Granted, I didn’t take history at UCLA so one can hardly blame them. We’ll just blame high school. Yes. And the internet for banishing all real necessity for recalling facts. And user error of the internet.

I will confess, I was a little embarrassed by my public gaffe (though truly minor and all in good fun). I felt like I just fell on my ass in public. Of course, my first instinct was to hide it and delete the post. But that is silly and speaks volumes of my own latent (now highlighted) insecurities. After all, although my post didn’t say too much about me (other than my complete failure to retain basic facts), my deleting it certainly would.

Who knew I cared that much about how I looked?

Everyone crafts their Facebook image – some more meticulously than others. Personally, I tend to post pics of my kids, the occasional rant, links to things I find cool/horrible, and status updates that perhaps mock myself and Hapa Papa. You know, like real life only better (and funnier). For the most part, I don’t mind laughing at myself since it’s all in good fun. And it’s talking about me, so there’s that going for it.

So what was the big deal about this post? It’s because my idiocy was inadvertent. I guess I don’t mind falling on my ass in public if it’s a scripted pratfall, but I do if I accidentally trip on a crack in the sidewalk.

Ultimately, who cares that I made a mistake? Why is that so bad that my first instinct was to hide it? No one expects me to be perfect or always correct. I certainly don’t expect it of others. I can only hope I have responded to my friends’ mistakes as graciously as my friends did to mine. (Sadly, this is actually in question. I know. I am an ass.)

Hopefully, one day, I will be secure enough in myself to not care about my image (Facebook or otherwise). For now, I’ll just have to satisfy myself with pretending to not care until I don’t.

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