While I cannot figure out the algorithm Facebook uses, it does occasionally plop a sweet picture in my feed from a few years ago.

 

"Remember this one? Share it so that others can see it too."

 

I do, because somehow they frequently come up with my favorites. The twins with baby chicks. A wedding. Benjamin singing. The photograph brings me fresh joy with absolutely no after taste. 

 

All of us have the most incredible storehouse imaginable. More space than a state of the art hard drive, higher def than a digital camera. Yet we scurry past the chance to retrieve them, like someone intent on their phone walking in their own front door past a stack of UPS packages. 

 

I like that social media suggests that we spread them. Sharing is good, not because it sets up a competition, but because delight grows rather than diminishes when it travels. There are moms who post pictures of their babies laughing, or their toddlers in costumes, or their athletes after a game, and I get a piece of the pleasure. 

 

It is of course in the realm of possibility that I use another person's happiness as a reason to feel left out. It is also my prerogative to see it as in invitation to be included.