I’ve taken the leap and deleted the Myspace account after over 4 years of memoire entries, picture posting, and collecting friends and family, alive & dead. My writing entries there were only on rare occasions anyway, but it was the connections I had that really mattered. My circle of friends was reasonably low–in the 50-60’s range–comprised of people I knew directly and in depth, as well as people I knew peripherally but would have liked to have gotten to know better. I even recently found a friend I had acquired and lost some 16 years ago–a momentous occasion really.
Yet my narcisissm won’t allow me to cut the cord entirely. I know there are at least three people who will have noted my departure by the new “X”s in their top friends list, but as for the other 50-some Friends, I wonder if they’ve even noticed I’m gone. So I’ve been going back to haunt the site every few days, feeling like a ghost checking in on the living, straining to hear my name, even if just in passing remarks like, “Hey, did you notice Dione deleted her profile?” I haven’t noted any eugoogalies yet, but I’m patient.
But Myspace did matter to me, as a tool for keeping in touch with friends and associates. As much as I moved around in my youth, I had hoped to reconnect with a few of the scattered souls I have found in my travels along the East Coast. Haply I did just that with 3 or 4 people, and I’m sure the list would have continued had I remained, but c’est la vie. We’ve all got to go sometime. Funny how much friends and family come to mean as we grow older. Funny, too, that in the folly of my youth I thought I was an island. I know better now: I’m an archipelago. Or part of one, at least.