Last night, I sifted through my entire Facebook history and deleted comments, hid status updates, and untagged or removed unflattering photos I’d forgotten about. … I combed my Facebook wall like I was meticulously proofreading a job at work. Why? Not because any of the content was inappropriate, or meant to be a secret, but because I micromanage myself. Because I’m a perfectionist. And because sometimes I just want to erase: to forget in the same way I had wanted to forget everything associated with a past relationship and a hard, confusing breakup.
Libby Copeland considers her documentation of her daughter's life:
[My daughter] is more of a person now; her future face is developing; her personality is emerging, and one day she will look at my Timeline—no doubt, still permanently archived on the Web—and recognize herself. And I don’t want her to feel I’ve told too much of her story, or the wrong parts. I don’t want to impose this superficial version of her childhood over her own memories. The details are for her to tell, or not tell. She deserves to choose her own omissions.