I've never been one to take the easy way out.

I'd rather use stairs than an escalator,porno izlemek günahm?d?t I'd rather walk a mile than take an Uber, I'd rather make mayonnaise from scratch instead of buying a jar, and I've never, ever used the Facebook Like button.

I've been on Facebook since early 2007, and when they rolled out the little thumbs up in 2009, I didn't know what to make of it. All of a sudden, with one click, you could give positive reinforcement to the banal, odd little posts that people made back then (I was definitely still finishing the prompt "Peter is:" instead of making a complete status update). It felt like such a small change at the time, but quickly altered what Facebook was, and what it meant to people.

The Like button immediately turned Facebook into a competition. Before we'd compare how many "friends" we had. Now every single update is a blank slate for people to approve with a tap of the mouse. It also meant that an update could turn into a bad feeling if it sat there and received no likes.

I felt like this was an unhealthy turn of events, but I immediately mistrusted the Like button for a different reason: it was just too easy. Something about the immediacy, the simplicity, the cursory nature of hitting that button seemed, and still seems, a little disingenuous to me.

How much are you really "liking" something if you are only willing to give it the absolute briefest of actions that one can do? Does that movement of my finger square with what I really feel? Does it communicate that emotion effectively to whomever shared the original post?

The answer to those questions is simply that I don't feel like the little thumbs up, or the perfunctory tap to activate it, has ever accurately illustrated how I feel. If I perform an action that doesn't reflect my intentions, I legitimately feel like I'm lying.

It's also so impersonal. It gives no complexity or nuance to the person's post. It adds nothing except a number that can be compared to other posts or a person's other posts.

There are times when good news is shared and a flood of likes overtakes a post, and I, caught up in the swelling, rising tide of well wishing, feel a strong urge to join in and increase that number. But I also chafe against that conforming feeling, so I don't click. Instead, I comment.

Since 2009, I've made it an active mission to openly say how much I like or love something in the comments of a post. I'm sure no one has noticed my adaptive behavior, but it makes me feel better.

There have been a few tiny exceptions. I do like actual Facebook Pages. I'll give a like to friends', businesses or groups that I want to keep up with and who will actually benefit from the click. I also had an extremely brief fling with reactions when Facebook rolled those puppies out a few years ago. But, alas, I ran into the same problems so I quickly stopped.

Strangely, this stance has not crossed over to other apps. I'll like something on Twitter (though I still prefer to think of it as "starring") because it's like a bookmark. I will often refer back to previous tweets that I have liked and the system makes that very accessible. Instagram is a little more complicated. I do like things on there, but, somehow, that feels as if it's a different form of conversation. I think of it as a smile and a nod to seeing something about someone's life rather than an exchange of thoughts.

Hashing this out with some coworkers, I sadly learned that commenting on an Facebook post without liking it could come off as a slight. That the number of likes did carry a separate weight than the comments. I absolutely understand how the evolution of social media leads to divisions in how people parse communication and interaction. I unfortunately also can't change how I feel about action vs. intention. I don't want to slight anyone by not liking their post. But I also don't want to lie with my likes.

So, for the foreseeable future, I will err on the side of ignoring that little blue thumbs up.