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The sense of possibility and suspense that has entered my life along with my Facebook account is, at times, almost unbearable.

I just signed up (ie: caved) at Facebook less than a month ago. Each day since then I find myself marveling at the breadth of information I have access to now, and the joy (and sometimes sinking feeling) that comes with it. There are so many people from my past who, until recently, were just vague question marks and ellipses in my memory. Some didn't even surface in my memory at all. Now, suddenly, dozens of people I once knew have emerged not as ellipses, but as full sentences and even paragraphs. They have photos and job histories, spouses and ex-spouses, children and pets and dozens of their own connections with other people I may or may not know. They go on vacations and have favorite music, political views and side projects. It's fascinating...and emotionally draining.

Perhaps it's not as emotional for the twenty-something set on Facebook. My guess is that most of their contacts are people they've never fully lost touch with, in large part because email and cell phones have always been at their service. They haven't even had enough time to make and then lose contact with scores of friends. Most of them also haven't lived enough life to cultivate sufficient drama, which they then have to explain to all those people they've lost contact with. A lot happens between the ages of 25 and 35.

I, on the other hand, have lost many friends over the years. They tend to fall into one of four categories:

a) Friends from high school I didn't stay in touch with because I didn't see any reason to.

b) Friends from college, my early marriage years and my time in St. Louis, who I gradually lost touch with in the busyness of life, moving around, and having babies.

c) Friends I lost contact with when I moved to Illinois in 2001, mostly because I was simply too depressed to want to share my updates with anyone. Eventually I was too focused on starting over and putting energy into new friendships.

d) Friends who cut me off because they were somehow hurt, pissed, or just plain judgmental about my divorce (generally due to a lack of information and lack of empathy).

For the most part, my honeymoon weeks on Facebook have been full of sweetness, generosity and bliss. I have reconnected with a whole slew of people, including: a friend from high school who I haven't been in contact with since 1998 (category "a"); two college roommates who fall into category "b" (one of whom, I was sad to learn, has also gone through a divorce); and several really wonderful "category c" people I was close to when I lived in Grand Rapids.

Even though none of these friends ditched me in a painful way during my divorce years, there was still a sense of trepidation and worrying and wondering: What have they heard about the whole saga? If forced to choose sides, whose side would they be on? What will they think about my reconstructed life? Being in touch with these people through Facebook has provided a quiet place for acceptance and picking up the pieces of old friendships in new ways. The result of almost all of my experiences in this online social network has been a feeling of lightness.

But Facebook has sprinkled salt in some old wounds, too. A week before my trip to New York, I saw the photo of an old friend in the "people you may know" section. Yes, I knew her. She and I had been very close for many years, but now she falls into category "d." I couldn't view her profile, of course, but was able to see that she now lives in New York. In the spirit of all of the reconnecting and beginning-again I've been doing via Facebook, I felt compelled to get in touch and let her know I was going to be in New York. Maybe we could meet for lunch or coffee, and sort out the complexities of what happened then and what has happened since. I sent her a message, then spent the next week checking repeatedly for a response. Nothing. I have seen evidence that she's been active on Facebook during this time, too, so it's hard to imagine an explanation for her silence other than this: She simply does not want to hear what I might have to say, nor does she want to try to formulate her thoughts and share them with me.

It's situations like these that make me think how much more simple my pre-Facebook social life was. Part of me is tempted to go back. But at the same time, I don't believe that ignorance is bliss, or that what you don't know won't hurt you. Facebook offers a medium for getting everything out on the table, and for that, I'm grateful.