In addition to being a writer, I also have clients for whom I run social media campaigns. Much of our time is spent figuring out how to get their pages “Liked” on Facebook. This strikes me as amusing since much of my own life has been spent strategizing about how to get more people to like me. This is what, I guess, makes me so perfect for the job.
I wish I did get paid spending countless hours trying to get what-his-face and that-one-girl trying to be my best friends. No, I got paid in “experience” and “life lessons” another type of currency that would be valuable if I could exchange it for actual cash. But I digress. The thing is I was usually successful at taking relationship hostages, brainwashing them into being my friend and then inevitably stabbing them square in the back later. No matter how much people liked me or how many friends I had, it was never enough and I wasn’t ever really happy. I collected friends for awhile too. People who were more fucked up then I was or people who had something I wanted or people who thought I was hilarious were the most prized of the collection. People who told me the truth and people who held me accountable were decidedly less popular.
Naturally, as I’ve pulled my head out of my ass I don’t worry too much if people like me. I mean, I don’t got out of my way to be a turd but I’m not wrapped up in the obsession of being popular and well liked. I have a handful of people I love and trust who tell me the truth. Today the only time I actively try to get “Liked” is for my clients and that is just fine by me. Besides, they pay me for that kind of thing. I know. Ridiculous.