I could feel my thoughts twist as I decided to delete my Instagram. It’s silly isn’t it? How something as simple as technology can replace friendships and family time as it embeds into your brain each time you “double tap” a strangers picture.

Stranger.

Do we even know what it’s like anymore to get to know someone without being about to “stalk” their social media to see what type of person they are?

Party girl. Hipster. Goody-good. Slut. Annoying. Fake.

A thick wall of desperation covers our century.

As I clicked “deactivate” my heart weakened.

I could feel the spit dampen my throat causing the cement to tighten and dry. It sank into my stomach. Hardening each organ by one, it reached my heart. It began to quiver and harden each pump. I became a wall. But, in reality, there was no cement. My body ached, as I knew it was time to realize what life is really about.

I’ve always dreamed of a certain lifestyle. It’s painted with green grass, pastures, children and memories wrapped around a small country home. It’s not about getting on Facebook and seeing how my long lost Aunt Barbra is doing in California. I have realized that if someone wants me to be in my life, they will make an effort. They will call me, stop by for a visit, or send a card.

These are things we hardly do anymore.

When was the last time you received a letter in the mail from someone rather than just saying “Happy Birthday” or “Merry Christmas?”

I’ve gone nine months without Instagram, and I feel fine. It feels good to know that I can function without refreshing my news feed to just see people bragging about what they did last weekend and their edited seflies.

There’s things we need to learn in life. We need to open our eyes to how the world is changing. We need to realize that our big world can turn into a instant “little world” with just the click of a deactivation button.