College is super different from high school. I know what you’re thinking: That’s a pretty obvious statement, and I get that. We are now living on our own, with only a couple of classes a day, and the rest is totally up to us. With that freedom, we get to see our friends a lot. A lot, a lot.
In high school, no matter how close you were with your friends, you would probably see them at school, sometimes after school and then on the weekends. It was hardly the situation that you would see them for every meal like in college. Your friends also wouldn’t really be a short walk to a door down the hall or just across the Thunderdome.
Initially, I thought it was cool to be so close to the people whom I want to hang out with. It is super casual and convenient to be like, “Hey, come down from the sixth floor of Metcalf.” Then, poof. They would be there, and it was grand. That ease is still very cool. It’s just that the convenience of having your friends so close to you can create a very open, boundary-less dynamic. But when I say it like that, it seems like it is a non-issue. Who wouldn’t want to have the ability to share everything with your closest friends?
Let me paint a picture so that you can better understand. Imagine that you are at dinner on a Thursday night with your closest friends. Mind you, these are the same people you munched and lunched with. They are also the same people you walked to your morning class with. Considering all this interaction, there isn’t much room for too much else to happen. So, what do you talk about?
Don’t get me wrong, there are always those people whom you can talk to for days about nothing, and it is so great. But, in other cases, you run out of things to say so the only thing that is left to do is talk about events in immense detail, until the point of no return. What accounts for all this oversharing?
According The Wall Street Journal, some people share too much because they are trying to self-regulate, meaning people want validation from others about what they are sharing. It also can be as simple as people wanting to share information to get it off their chest. Fair enough. Your friends are supposed to be there to hear about what is going on in your life. However, as one person’s story ends, you know it is about to be your turn. People look to you, waiting for some vivid telling of some not-so-important story.
Granted, I am basing this off personal experience with my all-girl friend circle. Maybe it is just a girl thing. Research shows that women speak an average of 13,000 more words than men. Hello, chatty Cathys! I’m not a math major, but speaking an average of 20,000 words a day per each female of the group adds up to a lot of sharing.
It doesn’t just end with face-to-face talking anymore either. We all know that we are living in a time where social media is all the rage. Each of us has multiple platforms to share your own thoughts and re-share the thoughts of others. We have a stream following us to show people we know about our likes, pet peeves, and if you are feeling frisky, relationship statuses. If something good, funny, sad, smart or kind happens to us, the first thing we do it post it on something. The New York Times even broke down the way that people share to five basic categories; the content is either entertaining, defines the sharer, nourishes their relationships, is self-fulfilling or it is about something they care about.
Social media in our lives added on to the close proximity of your friends has created a situation where nothing is just for you. No event in your life is left for you to simply reflect on without other people asking about it and then adding their advice. At times, it really isn’t a bad thing. It is neat to have that openness with a group of people who are genuinely interested in what is going on with you. Everyone wants someone to chat with and someone who will listen. However, personally, I am not exactly much of a sharer. I don’t really care to detail every part of my night. It’s nothing personal. I’m going to pull out this great line: It’s not you, it’s me.
