On February 19, 2020, I reached my tenth anniversary on Facebook. The next day I logged out and deactivated my account. I didn’t have any grand plans. I didn’t know how long I would be gone. I just decided I needed a sabbatical and took one.

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I am a voracious consumer of news, particularly of political and cultural topics. I have deep concerns and strong opinions about where our country is headed and decided a long time ago that I needed wanted to add my voice to the chorus of those on Facebook.

Because I enjoy a good debate, I was determined be candid with my views, but to do so with clarity, charity and objectivity. I never wanted to be unkind, petty or spiteful, all of which run counter to my natural temperament and to the grain of my Christian faith.

That seemed to go well for a long time. I hold many counter-cultural convictions and am not afraid of saying so, but I always tried to strike a reasonable tone while holding a firm line with those who disagreed with me.

Earlier this year, however, I had a couple of trusted friends separately tell me they saw an increasing stridency and lack of charity in what I was writing. Both felt I had overstepped one of those invisible boundaries that we all know are there, but don’t always define.

Those tactful confrontations coincided with the approach of my ten-year anniversary on Facebook. Because anniversaries provide opportunities to pause and reflect on how we’ve invested our time, I decided to make a quiet break with Facebook and consider the totality of what I was doing with it.

(Pro tip: Anyone who has spent 10 years doing anything with their discretionary time would be wise to evaluate whether it’s still a good investment.)

I didn’t know what to expect when I quit Facebook. Would I have withdrawal symptoms? Would I experience cravings? Would I feel left out? Would anyone notice that I had left?

No. No. No. And (checks notes) yes.

But what I learned is that I didn’t miss it.

Facebook is like a beehive. A colony is comprised of some 60,000 – 80,000 bees. It’s literally humming with activity as worker bees crawl around and over one another to build, clean and repair the nest, tend to the queen, feed the larvae, dispose of the dead, defend against intruders, fly in and out to collect pollen and nectar, and kick the drones out when food gets scarce.

Except for a few hours each night, the hive never stops. Just like Facebook.

As a member of the hive, I contributed to the frenzy by posting and sharing and clicking and liking and commenting while my feed served up endless notifications from friends and pages I follow. I loved (almost) every minute of it. If you’re part of the hive, you participate in the life of the hive because being a drone on Facebook—a silent observer—misses the point of the entire experience.

(Parenthetically—and to acknowledge the obvious—you can participate on the platform as much or as little as you desire. Facebook is what you make of it and has long since evolved beyond its original intent as a way to stay connected with personal friends. After a couple of years of minimal involvement, I realized there was much more to it that piqued my interests, and I chose to dive in.)

It wasn’t until I stepped out of the hive that I realized how frenzied it was. How frenzied I was. I breathed a little easier without the pressure to prompt and respond and, while I hate to admit it, I felt less anxious.

What I did miss, however, were the online relationships I’d cultivated. I missed the insightful writing, the incisive intellect, the witty repartee, the verbal jousting and the plain vanilla personal posts that were shared for no other reason but to enjoy a #humblebrag.

So I’ve chosen to rejoin the hive, but I’m going to do it a bit differently.

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While I was gone, I started a public blog at DAVEOLSSON.COM. (Thanks for being here!) With several years of curating and commenting on the latest political and cultural news and building a small cadre of friends on Facebook, I’m ready to broaden my influence.

Facebook offers some great features, including restricting who can and cannot see your page or specific posts. That makes for a mostly safe, but small, audience. Because I feel so strongly about what I usually write, I realized that I would eventually want to go public. I need to be a voice in the wild.

DAVEOLSSON.COM will now be the primary outlet for my writing, with my Facebook page playing a supportive role. For my friends on Facebook, content will stay the same. I’ll still curate articles with an excerpt; I’ll still mark some as “must-reads”; I’ll still share things I find humorous.

What will be new are original thought pieces I write on topics I feel strongly about. And all of it will be hosted at DAVEOLSSON.COM and posted to Facebook.

I’ll also post content on Facebook that I don’t post to DAVEOLSSON.COM. Some things are just for the few of us, and I’ll figure out what those are along the way.

I want to develop the site into a thought leadership platform concerning faith, culture and politics. I wrote about it in my first post.

It will take some time to catch a rhythm and build an audience, but I’ve already established a feature called “Morning Links” that reflects my view on what is important or interesting to know each day. If you subscribe to DAVEOLSSON.COM, you’ll receive an email notification that will take you right to the new content.

I’m new to owning a site and am feeling my way along. I’m tinkering with features and experimenting with new ways of designing and sharing content. Any encouragement is appreciated. Please visit regularly and, if you like what you read, share with your network of friends.

Taking a break from Facebook was a worthwhile exercise. I learned that I can live without it, but I did miss the friends I’ve made. I’m glad to be back.