When I moved to Oak Park five years ago, Facebook was an indispensable tool for getting to know my new community. Contractor recommendations from Oak Park Working Moms, yard inspiration from the Garden Club, free stuff via Free to a Good Home — a wealth of knowledge and support, all from my neighbors. It was the best of what social media had to offer.
Which is why it’s so disappointing when I see those same neighbors spiral into toxic discourse. We say things online we’d never say to someone’s face. We react without thinking, toss out broad statements like they’re facts, and lose empathy for the people on the other side of the screen.
I’ve come to expect this in local political groups. I didn’t expect it from my native plant group, where I witnessed a full-blown moderator revolt over posts referencing non-native plants. When virtual friendships are destroyed over Zinnias, you know we’ve lost the plot.
Like everyone else, I have opinions. But I increasingly get no satisfaction from sharing them online — usually regretting my half-baked take on someone else’s half-baked take. So I’ve turned to two uniquely analog outlets: writing letters to Wednesday Journal, and stand-up comedy.
When we moved in and the former owner’s Journal subscription landed the paper on my porch, I was struck by the robust opinion section — and quickly learned that if you submit it, they’ll publish it. Having this kind of old-school outlet felt strangely novel.
With this slower approach to community discourse, I’m almost delighted to get an incensed rebuttal. It means someone was so committed to responding, they took the time to write it out, send it in, and wait a week to be heard. I’ll take that over a snarky Facebook comment any day.
Meanwhile, I’ve always loved stand-up. I believe comedians are society’s truth-tellers. When the Comedy Plex opened last year and offered classes, I signed up. With my kids turning 5 and 7, I finally had some daylight to try something new. I thought it’d be a fun activity and a way to sharpen my public speaking. I didn’t realize I’d also find a new forum for my voice.
Now I have another venue to share my perspective on topics like aging, parenthood, and the oddities of life in Oak Park (leaf-bagging jokes go far in this town). The audience has no choice but to listen, yet no obligation to find me funny. It’s humbling, terrifying, and thrilling all at once. It’s a level of vulnerability that cannot be experienced sitting behind a screen.
A five-minute set, like a 500-word column, forces you to sharpen your message. There’s no room for filler, no space to meander. It’s not a clapback, and it’s not a rant. You write, rework, second-guess — and then eventually, the deadline hits.
With stand-up, the feedback is immediate: laughter or silence. With writing, you wait — not for a comment, but hopefully a conversation.
Nicole Chavas lives in Oak Park, where she runs a sustainable planning and design firm while her kids run everything else.