Yesterday the “like button” twirled, curtsied and exited stage left, waving merrily goodbye as she left.
Ms. Like Button and I chatted over tea earlier in the day while the Holy poured.
I laid the cards on the table as we munched our healthy cookies.
“Ms. Like Button,” I started, “I’m feeling like it’s time for you to go on the WordPress blog.”
“Why, in heaven’s name?” she asked, truly nonplussed.
“For many reasons,” said I. “Many of people who push your button seem like bots or folks just wanting visitors to their own websites. They’re not REALLY liking the posts. They’re just scammers. Or they want people to visit their blogs. Many of them don’t give two hoots.”
“Oh well? Who cares?” said she. “I don’t care where my likes come from. They’re fun!”
“And the only ones that can press you anyway have to be logged into WordPress. Seriously, that doesn’t feel fair. And I don’t like the comparison game–how part of the mind can sometimes start noticing which posts get likes and which don’t. It just doesn’t feel peaceful.
“There’s also a part of me that feels like you distract from what’s really important. Like the ego sometimes gets a thrill when someone likes the post–but I’ve learned what matters is that the post is given to the Holy. That I sit throughout the day and feel love for what was expressed through these typing fingers. I don’t want to depend on externals for kicks any more. Just the Holy.”
“You are no fun,” she sighed, polishing her fingernails. “What’s wrong with you? Besides look at the likes that come from beloved friends and long-time readers. Sometimes folks just push me to say–hi–I’ve read–I liked your post–but I don’t want to comment. Give ’em a break, girlfriend, let them push me! I like the attention.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Those likes feel good. Mmm-hmmm.”
Holy poured more tea from her blue flowered teapot. Ms. Like Button requested coffee. Holy brewed a cup, still smiling enigmatically at both of us.
“Do you think you might take a vacation for a couple of weeks? Maybe to another little cabin in the woods? This 75-day commitment is an opportunity to experiment. Let’s just gently try something new. Get rid of you–I mean you take a break–and we’ll see how things feel in December.”
“I don’t want to visit a cabin in the woods. How boring. You don’t get it, do you? I like people. I like likes.” She paused a long time looking at the chickadees flitting outside the kitchen window. “OK, since I’m not a real human being–I am an exciting like button–I will not get coronavirus. I am flying to New York City and visiting the Statue of Liberty. And I am gonna visit YOUR son’s new house in New Jersey, too–take THAT! Hooray!”
She curtsied, exited stage left, exuberantly waving goodbye. I shrugged helplessly to the Holy–she actually laughed out loud but seemed sympathetic–waltzed over the computer and found the like disabling button.
The story should have ended there. I should have understood why the Holy laughed.
The best laid plans of mice and men…
Apparently you can’t really truly 100% turn off the like button.
WordPress readers often read your blog in a cyberhome called the “Reader”. If anyone meanders over to the Reader they can like as they please. The button refuses to disengage. So you’re still getting likes whether you want to experiment or not. (Email or Facebook or other readers can’t find the like button, though, so it’s a catch-22.)
I phoned the like button.
“Hey, honey,” I cajoled, “I can’t turn you off. Can you come home?”
“Wait a sec,” she replied. “I’m on Wall Street now. Remember that picture of you and the bull? Too bad YOU can’t travel now. What did you say?”
“You have to go back to work,” I sighed. “You can’t be turned off.”
“I could have told you that!” she cackled delightedly. “But don’t worry, I can remote from New York City. Except they won’t let you sit in the cafes right now–heading to get a latte and bagel and see Ms. Liberty. Home in a couple of weeks!”
What do you readers think about the like button? Do you like or dislike or really don’t care two hoots? What will you add to the conversation while the Holy pours you a mug of tea or coffee?
Day 29 of a seventy-five day journey to connect more deeply with God, Spirit, Holy, Love…to explore “What the Heart Knows” during the waning days of 2020.