Q: About a year ago, my friend asked me to start sharing my real-time location with her. At first, the layer of forced transparency made me anxious. What if I want to reschedule our plans, but I’m just sitting at home? What if I’m running late because I can’t figure out what to wear, and not because I’m stuck in traffic? But here I am a year later, getting ready to meet up with Location-Sharing Friend, and I’m the one who’s abusing my power. I just checked her location to see how far away she is—a habit I’ve formed, and something I do even when we have no plans. She’s five minutes away. What’s your opinion on location sharing? Is it a sign of intimacy, or just downright invasive?
Ella M.
Location not found
A: I don’t mean to sound alarmist or paranoid, but I’m definitely going to. Location sharing is largely a scam and should be used sparingly. Such as in emergencies, or when you’re headed into potential and—this is the crucial part—actual danger. Because otherwise, all you’re doing is surrendering to surveillance capitalism, forfeiting autonomy, and weakening resilience. Ironically, many of us will fight for bodily and political autonomy, support safe spaces, respect privacy, and abhor trespass and violation, but are boundaryless when it comes to technology (even when it’s the nefarious, untrustworthy sort), willingly making ourselves susceptible to manipulation and behavior modification at the hands of our devices. And while it might be too late to reverse this ontological shift, or the merging of the virtual and the actual, we must resist where we can. The more we allow our likes and habits, our bodies and minds, to be available and porous to tech, the more we cede not just control but awareness, a sense that it knows more about us than we know about ourselves. Tech isn’t augmenting us, but the other way around.
And if that doesn’t scare you, let me appeal on a more personal level. Location sharing with your friends forms nothing more than an illusory connection. It’s the opposite of closeness, tethering people to their devices, not to one another. It’s an example of tech gamifying personal dynamics: My friend is a dot on a map that I can follow. I invent narratives based on their whereabouts, and judge accordingly. Higher value is placed on being in a certain place at a certain time. Being in the wrong place is a value deduction. No wonder you are anxious! This relationship is now quantifiable and transactional, but moreover, it’s exhausting! It’s starting to make sense why everyone is in avoidance mode and canceling plans these days.
My advice for you is to stop sharing your location and start sharing the things that help maintain and nurture a friendship: your time; your capacity for listening; your compassion, patience, and understanding.
As a sidenote: If I go missing, it’s probably because this answer makes me a target of the Tech Overlords. Too bad there’s no way to ensure that help could find me…
Q: I met a friend online, and at first we really hit it off. But lately she’s been crossing some boundaries. She’s started reaching out to all my friends, trying to get close to them, and organizing events that always involve me—sometimes without even asking if I’m free. It’s becoming overwhelming, and her voracious social appetite is a serious energy drain.
I’ve never had to confront a friend about something like this before, but I need some breathing room. How do I set boundaries without hurting her feelings or making things awkward?
Selena E.
Seattle, WA
A: Setting boundaries is a difficult task, but I agree you need to set some guidelines with this friend. As opposed to, say, doing the easier thing, which is to break up with not just her but your entire friend group, so that you never have to see her again or confront the problem. Or maybe move cities entirely. While I’m sure you’ve thought about doing both, I’m confident you can ask for breathing room without jeopardizing your friendship.
Here’s what to do: Be kind but firm, use clear and concise language, and above all else, don’t apologize for asking for what you need. Start with what you like and appreciate about her as a friend. Then tell her your needs, plain and simple, without hedging or qualifying. Explain what a balanced friendship feels like to you, and ask what she looks for in a friend. Perhaps through the process of clarification and transparency, she’ll understand why you’ve been uncomfortable, and you’ll gain a better understanding of her actions. She might be operating out of insecurity and not maliciousness, but she needs to see how it looks from your end. Additionally—and maybe this is the hard part—accept that her feelings might get hurt. (I suspect it’s thinking we’re responsible for everyone else’s feelings that makes boundary setting difficult in the first place.) So allow for her feelings, and don’t try to mollify them in the moment. Her anger, confusion, discomfort, whatever it may be, is temporary.
Even if she doesn’t do so immediately, I think she’ll appreciate the honesty. If she isn’t able to accept your needs, I hear Boise, Idaho, is nice.
Q: Everyone says I’m lucky to look young, but it often works against me professionally and socially. As an adjunct professor, I moonlighted at a college bar where coworkers treated me like a student until they realized I was their age. I’m always the only one carded when I go out with colleagues, and at conferences I get comments that imply my inexperience, referencing the vast opportunities before me. Buddy, you’re like two years older than I am. We’re at the same stage in our careers.
These episodes are usually good for a laugh, but the larger pattern is starting to grate on me—and constantly brushing it off gives people tacit permission to treat me in a diminutive way. How do I address this without coming off as overly sensitive?
Baby-Faced Professional
Houston, TX
A: Everyone is right: you are lucky. But I imagine it’s also difficult to be perpetually underestimated, so I empathize with your plight. I’ll call the condition with which you are afflicted the Ronan Farrow Syndrome, wherein one’s cherubic face sets off a cognitive dissonance in others, resulting in confusion, mistrust, and skepticism. Fortunately, there are ways to manage your RFS, the first being a beard, real or fake, no matter your gender. Don’t be afraid to make this facial hair gray, something that conjures Father Time but still manages to be chic. Second, let people know how dry your skin feels. No, really: Talk about it. Use excessive amounts of hand lotion and lip balm. Have these on or close to you at all times by placing them everywhere: near the front door, in a pocket of every coat you own, in your car, in your favorite backpack. Discover a ChapStick you didn’t know you’d put somewhere. You’ll be surprised by how elated you feel when you happen upon the small container; it will have been a while since joy has overtaken you like this. Next, add sighing to your repertoire. Not in response to anything or anyone specific, simply because. Like exercise, or in place of it, it’s nice to have a routine. The louder and longer the sigh, the better, and never sit or rise without one.
I can almost guarantee that making these small adjustments to your appearance and routine will convey not only maturity but senescence. I must caution you, however, that there’s only one proven cure for RFS, and that is time. Eventually, Baby-Faced Professional, you will not just be old, you’ll look old, or at least older. Still youthful, perhaps, but not young. At which point you’ll long for the days of being carded at bars and mistaken for a college student.
Q: It’s my first winter in the Pacific Northwest, and the unending damp, gray, and cold are starting to get to me. Any advice to combat seasonal depression?
Greg F.
Portland, OR
A: As a lifelong Pacific Northwesterner, I relate to your struggles. Though I’ve yet to try one, medical professionals often tout the proven benefits of a light therapy box for seasonal affective disorder (SAD). So I’d be remiss if I didn’t pass that advice on to you. As for me, here’s how I usually cope: I wear a coat and knit hat in the house to counter the damp, bone-chilling cold. If other people in your home aren’t asking if you’re about to head out, you’re doing it wrong. I also drink hot tea throughout the day. Chamomile, mint, or an herbal blend that promises the same effect as pills. While coffee is wonderful in the morning, you want to avoid drinking too much caffeine. After all, sleep is when you can shut out the misery, and it’s not to be jeopardized. Additionally, I set a reading or movie-watching goal for the winter. Pick an author or subject, director, genre, or actor, and create a list of books or films. Make it a reasonable number, something achievable; goal-setting helps counter the shapelessness of the dreary days, and the way gray skies melt time. Productivity is less about getting shit done and more about imposing an architecture on the void. This year I’m reading books about the Vietnam War, which means I’ve entered the military history phase of my life, an indication that by next year I’ll be building model planes. Um. I’ll be honest, Greg: As I write this, I’m less and less sure I’m combatting my own seasonal depression. What I’ve described is a woman sitting around her house in outerwear, mug of tea in mittened hand, reading about war. Maybe it’s time to purchase that SAD lamp.
contributor
contributor
Carrie Brownstein is a musician and a writer/director in film and television. She was the cocreator and costar of the Emmy and Peabody Award–winning comedy series Portlandia. Brownstein has directed television shows for HBO, HBO Max, NBC, Comedy Central, and Hulu. She also directed a short film for KENZO starring Mahershala Ali and Natasha Lyonne. Brownstein is a founding member of the seminal punk-rock band Sleater-Kinney and author of the New York Times best-selling memoir Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl. She lives in Portland, Oregon.
