Yesterday, a blogger from my sidebar requested to be my friend on Facebook. Yes, that means my real Facebook profile with my real name, which has the title of my real job and place of employment on it. Blogging identity and real identity, right? And never the twain shall meet?
Well, this blogger who requested my friendship was cheating! He was messing with the system. That was my second reaction. My first was “oh, how nice.” Third came “how did she do that?” Turns out he had found me using Facebook’s friend-finder, because I had left the same email address for both my Facebook and my blog.
Some of the loose ends were easy enough to tie up. I changed my Facebook email straightaway. Done and done. From now on, no one who reads my blog will find me through Facebook.
But the whole ordeal (or experience, or whatever) made me think about a few things, especially if I decide to accept the friendship, which I am inclined to do (but haven’t yet).
I know my Facebook friends, and they are really my friends. I get a lot of friend requests that I turn down from people I know, or people I’ve met. Sorry, you’re not my friend, so that’s it.
So what if one of my friends sees this blogger friend, or some post she writes on my wall, and asks “who is that?” Well, um… well. My friend? Is he?
Because when we get down to it, what is my relationship with the people who read my blog? With people whose blogs I read? Why do I write, for myself or for them? Why do I read, for them or for myself? Do I count any of them my friends?
Well, I read for entertainment. My “care factor” is pretty small.
Let me put it this way: let’s say Random Blogger A that I read is trying to get into architectural school, right? Sure, I want him to get in from basic philanthropic motives. But I also want the one with the best story. And if getting rejected is a better story, I won’t tear my hair out about it.
At the same time, of course, I don’t know which will make the better story beforehand, so it’s easy to root for “my guys.” Go y’all. Hope you get that promotion, hope your mom doesn’t die from cancer. I really do.
But you’re not my friends. You’re just different than that. My friends are people I’ve met, hung out with, conversed with face to face over and over again. You guys are just a bunch of people who are smart and usually cool and sometimes have a modicum of morality to you.
You know how I figured out my answer to this whole question? I thought about whether it would bother me how other bloggers answered it. And it wouldn’t.
Some of you might classify me as a friend. That’d be cool. Some of you might not. That wouldn’t really bother me.
For me, it’s just a matter of definition. My friends are a very specific thing. You all are something else. It’s a cool something else, but it is something else.
I’ve heard some people use the word “freaders.” Fine, I guess. Maybe that works. But for me, friends doesn’t.
So, what about for you? Does it matter to you what I think about this? What do you think? Can we still be friends? I mean, no wait…