Shhh. Here Is Why I Won't be Posting This Column on Facebook.

By necessity, our lives are compartmentalized. It’s a skill most of us learn in junior high. Want to drink alcohol and kiss boys? You don’t tell your parents. You’re the model child at home, and actually enjoy spending time with your parents? You don’t tell your friends.

As we get older, we get more segmented. There are your friends, old and new, acquaintances, work friends, your children, your spouse, your boss. And on very rare occasions are these people all in the same room. We like it this way. You have to wear your hair up sometimes – for holiday parties or weddings or job interviews. The rest of the time you can wear your hair down. Let it all hang out. Being an adult gives you the freedom to put on whatever face you want for whatever group you’re with.

Enter Facebook.

For years I eschewed social networking. Friendster – ignored it. MySpace – never used it. LinkedIn – still can’t figure out its purpose.

Late last year, I ignored about 10 different invitations from friends on Facebook. Then one day I signed up. What the heck? I would never use it. And it would get one particularly insistent friend off my back.

Oh, That’s Why

Then I found out why it’s nicknamed “Crackbook.” Several times a day, I abandon worthy pursuits (one of them is making money) and log on to see what my friends are doing.

I’ve reunited with folks I haven’t seen in years, and I’ve discovered many of my acquaintances are more interesting than I thought. They’ve become more than the superficial face that I see socially. Other people make me laugh out loud, and I get to enjoy a bit of their wit every day. That’s the good news.

The bad news Facebook doesn’t allow you to compartmentalize.

My walled off existence started to deteriorate around the holidays. One of my husband’s colleagues sent me a friend request. This started a bout of handwringing among my friends and family who know him. Let’s call him, “Joe.”

I want to start off by saying that Joe is a lovely person who lives back east. When he comes to Los Angeles, I will always rearrange my plans to see him. He’s nice and funny and warm. But I never discuss the dreaded triumvirate with him: sex, politics, or religion. My mother taught me better. I don’t know if Joe is a Democrat, Republican, independent, or Libertarian. Joe is Jewish, but I don’t know where he stands on Israel or God. Joe is married with children, so I assume he’s heterosexual.

Now Here is a Sticky One

But do I know if he’s accepting of people all along the sexual identity spectrum?

If I don’t know these things about Joe, then it’s safe to assume, he doesn’t know these things about me. And our relationship thrives in this obscurity of personal knowledge.

But among my close friends already on Facebook and who already know what I have to say about everything – I had already let loose. They know I currently like Obama, but still generally dislike Democrats. They know I hate the bank bailout, but like Kentucky Sen. Mitch McConnell for getting it right. You name it, I’ve said it. Because I didn’t have that kind of relationship with Joe, I struggled to decide whether I should friend him or ignore him—and then avoid the topic when I next see him in February.

In the meantime, Joe tried to friend others in my network, and more hand wringing ensued.

I ignored him as long as I think etiquette allowed. If challenged, I had the ready excuse of Christmas and New Year’s to shield me. Then I caved and friended him.

So What if I Praise Republicans?

My friends weren’t thrilled. If we had collectively frozen him out, maybe he’d think his computer was broken, they theorized.

Despite all the doomsday predictions, it hasn’t been so bad. He didn’t comment on my praise of some Republicans or my support of Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich’s right to be presumed innocent. But I haven’t seen Joe in person, either. Until then, I won’t know the extent my status updates have had on our friendship. Then another Facebook dilemma plagued me.

One of my closest friends is gay. It’s something I rarely think about, but I was about to post a comment on her wall – the repeat of my twice yearly email entreaty that she and her longtime partner come to Los Angeles I could even sweeten the deal this time around – because they could get married here. (This was well before the passage of Prop. 8 in November.) Then I paused. She was working as an instructor at a major university – most of her Facebook friends were colleagues and students. What if she wasn’t “out” to them? Her partner has been in the closet for much of her career, and wasn’t listed anywhere on her profile.

Should I Have Been More Discreet?

In retrospect I realize, I probably should have asked her – off Facebook. Instead I deleted my Wall-to-Wall post and said nothing. When my husband posted something on her Wall about the Connecticut Supreme Court decision allowing same-sex couples to marry – I shot him a warning email. He emailed back, telling me I was being nuts. And maybe he was right.

Another friend then posted something inflammatory about religion. I agreed and started to comment on his post with the equivalent of an electronic high-five. Then I realized another friend, who’s devoutly evangelical, would likely be highly offended, and I deleted that comment as well.

So after Joe, I’ve been ruthless about who can be my friend. The in-laws that don’t like me, I’ve flat out ignored. Facebook wouldn’t be any fun if I have to fend off constant criticism for everything I say or type. I’d rather save that for strained holidays and family reunions. I unfriended a former employer so could I speak about her freely. And new invitations are summarily ignored. It looks like I don’t know more than 65 people who will tolerate my outspoken nature. That’s a good number. Facebook would stop being fun if it’s just another place where I have to censor myself.

And in answer to the obvious question, no I won’t be posting this column on Facebook. I’d like my next dinner with Joe to be a pleasant affair.

Jessica Gadsden has been controversial since the day she discovered her inner soapbox. She excoriated the cheerleaders on the editorial page of her high school paper, transferred from a co-educational university to a women's college to protest the gender biased curfew policy, published a newspaper in law school that raked the dean over the coals with (among other things) the headline, "Law School Supports Drug Use"—and that was before she got serious about speaking out. Progressive doesn't begin to define her political views. She's a reformed lawyer, and full time novelist who writes under a pseudonym, of course.This will mark the debut of our newest, and perhaps most charismatic, weekly essayist. A Brooklyn native, she divided her college years between Hampton University and Smith.