We compete with other soft Americans for the best life on Facebook. Shining light on our cars and jewels. Smiling with a glass of red. Seemingly oblivious to the plight of others who fight just to survive–even here in our own country. Oh sure, we change our avatars in support of injustice, and vent our frustration in our status updates (true solidarity among the privileged) for a few days–until we scroll to a photograph of a peer enjoying a beer in a quaint cafe in Paris (a black and white shot with just the right mood, and the wrong things cropped out) which creates in us a sense of fight.
To win this game.
To compete for the perfect veneer.
So we plot. And post. And wait for the likes and loves to come rolling in.
To feel alive.