I'm no social media novice, but I’m still shocked by the number of photos I come across on Facebook friends’ profiles. Getting through them all, back to those embarrassing eighth-grade ones is now somehow exhausting. It used to be that you could see how many there were, to at least know what you were up against, but now I think even Facebook’s stopped counting.

There’s this girl, let’s call her Cindy for the sake of this article, that I follow pretty religiously on Facebook. She’s a friend from high school (friend would be a strong term, actually, but we did talk on more than one occasion) who posts maybe 20-50 photos of herself and her sorority friends each week. Multiply that by how many weeks are in the school year and account for surges during vacations and special occasions, and you have, well, too many to count.

First of all, I will say that I have no problem with Cindy’s barrage of duck-faced selfies and Big/Little references. In fact, the constancy of such posts can be soothing. But I wonder this: what will Cindy do, in 40 years, when her sorority days must co-exist in this virtual space with her ultrasounds, new home or later, graying hair?

It’s not so much the fact that people would have the time, energy or emotional capacity to post such a volume of imagery that intrigues me, but the psychological consequences of their decision. Mostly, I am curious what they will feel like, or think, in the future, with a lifetime — almost their entire, conscious past — of Facebook photos behind them.

One answer is that Cindy will never encounter this problem because she will outgrow Facebook, or something else will come along and divert her attention. Already, platforms like Instagram and Snapchat are consuming what once was the Social Media king. Or maybe Social Media will disappear altogether.

Another answer is that Cindy will feel good, accomplished, looking back through Facebook and reflecting on the fullness of her life. Oh, look at the friends she had! The parties! The adventures. Maybe it will make her want to revisit old places or make amends with long-lost acquaintances.

There's also the future of Cindy’s future virtual stalkers to consider. Imagine seeing every stage of someone’s entire adult life — places they’ve lived, where they went to school, who they dated, what kind of books they read, what their dog that died looked like — in a minute slideshow.

Maybe “sad” is the wrong word, but something about the potential of our virtual futures seems unjust to me. It’s having ourselves reduced to our own subjective material, or what we chose to include and exclude during different stages in our lives without necessarily reflecting the reality of those periods.

Not only that but the availability of this online information undermines mystery and intrigue. Maybe the fun of getting to know someone isn’t being able to see everything about their past, but discovering bit by bit, until they become whole.

Whatever the psychological outcomes of our virtual reality are, they’re something our generation is going to face. Soon. We’re the guinea pigs of the social media age.

My advice is to just remember what your parents are always telling you: photos live forever. Beware of what your 60-year-old self might think.