拜拜了，推特

在這個(gè)自媒體火爆的時(shí)代，刷屏一族喜歡時(shí)時(shí)與手機(jī)為伴，終日沉溺在虛幻的網(wǎng)絡(luò)世界里，刷完微博刷微信，轉(zhuǎn)發(fā)、點(diǎn)贊、評(píng)論，企圖刷出自己在虛擬空間里的存在感。然而隨著時(shí)間的流逝，當(dāng)這種沉迷并未給你的現(xiàn)實(shí)生活帶來(lái)亮點(diǎn)，反而越來(lái)越消耗時(shí)間和精力，變成一種生活負(fù)擔(dān)，你該作何選擇呢？繼續(xù)刷，還是適可而止？也許，讀完這篇文章—一個(gè)曾深陷推特?zé)o法自拔而后又勇敢退出的推客的自白，你會(huì)堅(jiān)定自己的選擇。

It started June 25， 2008： “Testing， testing. Is this thing on？” My first tweet. I began by trying to make a few friends laugh. I had no idea how quickly tweeting would consume1） me. Before long I was posting 20 to 30 times a day， seven days a week. Some of my posts were funny， some sad， some vaguely existential—“Living happily ever after is killing me”—some flirty2）， some filthy3）. I posted daily for three years with only one exception—the day my father-in-law died. Eventually， I attracted about 25，000 followers. Not bad for a noncelebrity.

Soon my entire life revolved around tweeting. I stopped reading， rarely listened to music or watched TV. When I was out with friends， I would duck into4） the bathroom with my iPhone. I tweeted while driving， between sets of tennis， even at the movies. （“I love holding your hand in the dark.”） When I wasn’t on Twitter， I would compose faux5） aphorisms6） that I might use later. I began to talk that way too. I posted every hour on the hour， day and night， using a Web site that enabled me to tweet while asleep.

It was an obsession. And like most obsessions， no good came of it.

Eight months after I began tweeting， I was laid off7） from a job in the music business. Looking for work in such a bad economy was brutal. Almost a year went by before I finally landed a job at a men’s magazine. Just before I started， I removed my name from my Twitter feed and replaced it with my initials， L.C.

One morning， a few months later， my boss came into my office. “We need to talk about your Twitter，” he said.

“Sure，” I said. “What about it？” He told me that someone in H.R. had stumbled on8） my tweets and was stunned. （Apparently， the ability to craft crude jokes isn’t what corporate America looks for in new employees.） My tweets were a clear violation9） of the company’s social-media policy. I had a choice： to delete the account or face termination. Sensing that my days were numbered， and being ambivalent about the job anyway， I chose to fall on my sword10）.

Being unemployed was even harder the second time around. On the other hand， I had more time to tweet. What did I get out of it？ Certainly not fortune or fame—on Twitter I was， for the most part， anonymous. But for me， every tweet was a performance. As John Updike11） wrote， “No act is so private it does not seek applause.”

About a month after I left the job， I separated from my wife， and I moved out of our house on Long Island and into an apartment in Park Slope. One morning， in a fit of pique12）， I wrote something like， “I would’ve taken a bullet for my wife， but now I’d rather be the one pulling the trigger.” To me， it was just a joke. To my son， it was a disturbing remark about someone we both love. He threatened to stop following me on Twitter. I deleted the tweet immediately.

Around this time， perhaps not coincidentally， my habit started to feel less like a rush and more like a burden. Instead of tweeting to reflect on my life， tweeting had become my life. I began to think seriously about giving it up.

I retweeted some of my older posts， telling myself that they would seem new to my now much larger audience. The truth was that the self-imposed pressure to post constantly—and for the post to contain at least a kernel13） of wit or real feeling—had sapped14） me. I was burned out.

I finally committed “Twittercide” about a month ago. Some of my followers begged me to reconsider， and the flood of affection and good wishes felt a little like the end of It’s a Wonderful Life15）. But I knew it was time to return to mine.

Do I still have the occasional urge to tweet？ Do I continue to compose tweets in my head？ Do I miss my Twitter friends？ Sure. But the immense weight of compulsion has been lifted. Now， before I go to sleep， I turn off my iPhone before I turn out the lights. When I wake up in the morning， my first thought is of making coffee， not of typing “Someone spiked my coffee with optimism this morning and I spat it right out.”

In my next-to-last tweet， I encouraged everyone to follow my son. With luck， he will also know when to stop. He is pretty funny. He will be even funnier when he gets older and sadder.

一切都始于2008年6月25日?！皽y(cè)試，測(cè)試。發(fā)出去了嗎？”這是我的第一條推文。一開始，我就想著怎樣才能讓幾位好友開懷一笑。我根本沒料到自己會(huì)很快沉迷于推特。沒多久，我就開始每天發(fā)布20到30條推文，每周七天，一天不落。這些推文有的滑稽，有的哀傷，有的似乎是對(duì)人類存在的思考—“從此幸福地生活著簡(jiǎn)直要我的命”—有的輕浮，有的粗俗。連續(xù)三年，我每天都要發(fā)點(diǎn)什么，只有一天例外—我岳父去世那天。最終，我吸引了25，000名粉絲。對(duì)一個(gè)沒什么名氣的普通人來(lái)說(shuō)，這已經(jīng)很不錯(cuò)了。

很快，我的全部生活都開始圍著推特轉(zhuǎn)。我不再讀書，也很少聽音樂或者看電視。和朋友們外出時(shí)，我常常拿著iPhone躲到衛(wèi)生間里。開車的時(shí)候發(fā)，打網(wǎng)球的間隙發(fā)，甚至看電影時(shí)也發(fā)。（“我喜歡在黑暗中握著你的手?！保┘词共簧贤铺貢r(shí)，我也會(huì)編一些假名言，以備不時(shí)之需。說(shuō)話的時(shí)候我也開始用在推特上說(shuō)話的語(yǔ)氣了。我時(shí)時(shí)刻刻、沒日沒夜地發(fā)推文，我用的網(wǎng)站哪怕是我睡覺時(shí)也能讓我刷推特。

我上癮了。和所有其他令人上癮的東西一樣，這沒帶來(lái)什么好結(jié)果。

刷了八個(gè)月的推特之后，我丟掉了自己在音樂行業(yè)的飯碗。在經(jīng)濟(jì)如此不景氣的情況下找工作是一件十分殘酷的事。幾乎過(guò)了一年，我才終于在一家男性雜志社找到了工作。在開始上班前，我把自己的名字從推特圈里去掉，代之以我名字的首字母L.C.。

幾個(gè)月后的一天早上，老板走進(jìn)我辦公室?！拔覀冃枰?wù)勀愕耐铺?。”他說(shuō)。

“沒問題，”我說(shuō)，“怎么了？”他告訴我人力資源部有人偶然看到我的推文，感到很震驚。（很明顯，美國(guó)公司在招聘新員工時(shí)，并不希望他擁有創(chuàng)造粗俗笑話的能力。）我的推文顯然違反了公司關(guān)于社交媒體的規(guī)定。我可以二選一：要么刪除賬戶，要么卷鋪蓋走人。我預(yù)感到自己在這家公司時(shí)日不多了，再說(shuō)原本對(duì)這個(gè)工作就心存矛盾，于是我就選擇了炒自己魷魚。

再一次失業(yè)，日子更不好過(guò)。另一方面，我也有了更多的時(shí)間刷推特。我刷到了什么？當(dāng)然既沒刷到錢財(cái)也沒刷出名氣—在推特上，我大部分時(shí)間都是匿名。但對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)，每一條推文都是一場(chǎng)表演。正如約翰·厄普代克所說(shuō)：“再個(gè)人化的行為也想得到公眾的掌聲。”

在我辭去工作大約一個(gè)月之后，我和妻子分居了。我從長(zhǎng)島的家中搬了出去，搬進(jìn)了公園坡的一棟公寓里。一天早上，一時(shí)氣憤之下，我寫下了這樣的文字：“以前我情愿為老婆擋子彈，而現(xiàn)在我則希望自己是那個(gè)扣扳機(jī)的人。”在我看來(lái)，這只是一個(gè)玩笑。但在我兒子看來(lái)，對(duì)一個(gè)我們倆都深愛的人說(shuō)這種話讓他很難接受。他威脅說(shuō)不再關(guān)注我的推特。我立刻把這條推文刪掉了。

到了這個(gè)地步，或許并非巧合，發(fā)推特對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)不再是一種快感，而更像是一種負(fù)擔(dān)。刷推特已不再是為了思考人生，它已變成我的人生。我開始認(rèn)真地考慮放棄推特了。

我轉(zhuǎn)發(fā)了自己以前的幾條推文，對(duì)自己說(shuō)我現(xiàn)在的粉絲群比以前大多了，這些推文對(duì)他們來(lái)說(shuō)也跟新的一樣。推客們都有一種自我施加的壓力，那就是要不停地發(fā)推文，每條推文都至少要包含一點(diǎn)智慧的內(nèi)核或者真情實(shí)感，但事實(shí)是這種壓力快把我榨干了。我已燈枯油盡。

大約一個(gè)月前，我終于結(jié)束了自己在推特上的生命。有些粉絲懇求我再考慮考慮。一時(shí)間，真摯的情感、美好的祝愿如滔滔江水涌來(lái)，讓人覺得就像《生活多美好》的大結(jié)局一樣。但我明白，是時(shí)候該回歸我自己的美好生活了。

我是否偶爾還有發(fā)推文的沖動(dòng)呢？我是否還在頭腦中構(gòu)思推文呢？我是否想念推特上的朋友們呢？答案是肯定的。但那種“不作推文死不休”的沉重負(fù)擔(dān)已經(jīng)沒有了?，F(xiàn)在，每晚睡覺前，我都會(huì)在關(guān)燈前先關(guān)上iPhone。每天早上醒來(lái)，我想到的第一件事是泡咖啡，而不是發(fā)出這樣的文字：“有人今天早上在我的咖啡里添加了樂觀主義調(diào)味料，我立馬就吐了出來(lái)！”

在我寫下倒數(shù)第二條推文前，我發(fā)推文呼吁大家都去關(guān)注我兒子的推特。幸運(yùn)的話，他也將明白適可而止。他非常有趣。隨著他年齡的增長(zhǎng)，隨著他日漸了解愁滋味，他會(huì)變得更有趣。

1.consume [k?n?sju?m] vt. （使）沉溺，（使）沉迷

2.flirty [?fl??ti] adj. 輕浮的，輕佻的

3.filthy [?f?lθi] adj. 下流的；淫穢的

4.duck into：躲進(jìn)

5.faux [f??] adj.〈法〉人造的；假的

6.aphorism [??f??r?z（?）m] n. 格言；警句

7.lay off：（通常指因工作崗位不足而）辭退，解雇

8.stumble on：無(wú)意中發(fā)現(xiàn)

9.violation [?va???le??（?）n] n. 違反；違背

10.fall on one’s sword：（尤其是在迫于壓力的情況下）辭掉工作或其他職責(zé)

11.John Updike：約翰·厄普代克（1932～2009），美國(guó)長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)與短篇小說(shuō)作家、詩(shī)人

12.pique [pi?k] n. 生氣；不悅

13.kernel [?k??（r）n（?）l] n. 核心，要點(diǎn)

14.sap [s?p] vt. （尤指經(jīng)過(guò)一段很長(zhǎng)的時(shí)間）使傷元?dú)?；使耗盡

15.It’s a Wonderful Life：《生活多美好》，是一部于1946年上映的美國(guó)電影。影片講述了喪失生活信心的主人公在天使的指引下重新鼓起生活勇氣的故事。