In an Instant, Instagram

moments being lost by the minute by the hour by the day

In 2011 I posted my first picture on instagram. I’d show you, but I deactivated my account yesterday. Wait. Even if I wanted to show you I wouldn’t be able to because it was on my Teddies for Bettys account. An account I deactivated and deleted in 2019.

The image was a behind the scenes of our new location on 2nd St being revealed. It felt momentous in the moment.

That momentous feeling manufactured many times over these last 12 years, has also come with a mental battle that I’m realizing I’ll never win and I was never meant to.

You know what’s strange? There was a time when I was active on Twitter that I found my brain thinking in 140 characters. My mind quickly honed in on producing thoughts that were quick and to the point. Maybe this is a good skill to have. I do tend to talk in tangents and stream of consciousness.

Over the last few years, I’ve watched my brain develop the ability to create 60-90 second reels of information to not just capture my audience's attention, but inform them of something they may not know- quickly- and perhaps consider another perspective, and make them laugh and hopefully comment and like and and and…

And

I’ve watched my brain run this ‘skill’ in the background like a virtual program or voice. I can’t shut it off. At the same time I’m noticing my brain only wanting to consume 60-90 second sound bites or visuals. Is this what it is to be a Cliff Notes for Dummies? What will my memory hold in the years to come? Memes? Another strangers ‘happiness’ framed in my palm?

I feel dumb.

Dumbed down and

Numb.

I’m watching the feeling I get when I scroll. This numbed out sensation that I can’t seem to stop going back for more of. I’ll catch myself. What are you doing? You just checked the app. I’ll quickly close it.

And I kid you not, I will find myself re-opening, starting up the scroll once again. As if the information overload wasn’t enough or imprinted on my brain or is different from 2 minutes ago when I closed the app.

Do you know this feeling in the brain I’m referring to? For me, if static on a tv screen had a feeling, it would be analogous to the sensation I’m experiencing. 

Zoned the fuck out.

Photo by Malte Helmhold on Unsplash

I’m witnessing my life with my phone in my hand. Everywhere I look. Phones in hands. In cars. On runs. On benches. In restaurants.

In…. On…

At night, I’ll lay in bed silencing my mind as my finger swipes through, glancing at the images. 

A media meditation.

I’m observing capricious flare ups over my work being ‘shadow banned’ aka censored by the platform, lack of performance and honestly, over what I sometimes see posted by others.

It feels like I’m working against a resistance while also being intolerant of myself and others at times. 

It feels all too serious. Where did the fun go? 

I’m witnessing an embarrassed, almost shameful feeling when I see pictures of me with my kids on vacation, my phone in my hand. When I look at my dog Pablo, who is looking at me, on my phone, I wonder what he thinks of his human…. always with this thing in her hand. 

I think to myself, I’m so grateful these did not exist when I had babies.

But I have young adults. And friends. And hobbies I want to pursue. Food to make. And so many things to do that need to be done.

I have the desire to speak French. To better understand and learn more English. 

Maybe this is normal, but my current experience of learning another language is showing me just how little I know about English and sentence structures.

Example; Articles. While taking my French lesson these came up (le duh) and I was a little confused so I called my son who speaks Spanish, to inquire.

Yah Mom. You know the words ‘a’ and ‘the’? 

Wait, what? Those are called Articles? 

Yes. 

Did you learn that in school? 

Yes, mom.

Dammit. I don’t feel like anyone ever taught me that! How am I supposed to be a writer when I don’t even know how sentences are structured and what the things are all called??!! 

You seem to be figuring it out. 

If that had happened 48 hours ago I would have been on instagram talking about it rather than going back to my lesson to study. 

I digress. 

I desire to read more. To write more essays. To connect more in person and more deeply with those around me. Run more. Maybe, not think. Stare at the sky. Look my dogs in the eyes.

I have fears that my work won’t be known. That I won’t know what’s going on. Where to go. What to do. Who is who. What is relevant.

Relevance.

Somehow I’ve been convinced that the only way for you to know how to work with me, for me to market my work and continue to support myself as a coach and a writer, is to create content that can be seen on your screen, somewhere in the scroll.

Which brings with it more feelings of ugh.

I’m selling to you, like it’s selling to me; we are the products no matter which way you slice it.

AND FRANKLY I DON’T WANT TO MARKET MY WORK TO YOU ALL THE TIME. Every app I open and almost everywhere I look, someone is trying to sell me and you- something. It feels forced, contrived and performative. 

How did we all do it before? Stay connected. Grow our businesses? Not wonder if our mental health is (absolutely is) being adversely affected by the tools that are promoted to keep us ‘connected’; if our kids will know how to relate and be in the world without so much influence and false sense of togetherness; if… 

I tried to remember a time when my life wasn’t measured by likes, shares and comments. Was it a worthy one? Was it deemed productive? Was it ‘successful’?

Reference.

At 43, I feel like one of the lucky ones who can say that life before social media was still lived even though no one knew all the things. And guess what? (she tells mainly herself)

I did feel more productive. My worth was not in question. Success was not measured by others or how the world responded to my work. I was more connected to those around me. I called friends and family on the regular. I mailed letters. I wrote for myself. Others came across it. I read. A lot. I cooked. Recipes were shared via email, regular mail or over the phone. I ran. Everyone in town knew because they saw. I worked with clients. They came to me through referrals. I figured out where to go and what to do by just going and doing. 

In some ways, my life was the same then as it is now. Only it was vacant of this need to share every moment and wait for feedback. Of the mental masturbation, anxiety and burnout. I didn’t spend copious amounts of time working on posts, crafting captions, choosing songs, filters, the right moment, authentically, at just the right time, driven by the belief that ‘I have to… for my work’.

I just lived my life and shared it with those I came in contact with. 

No less momentous. No less memorable. 

I’m unsure today if I’ll return or not, but I have committed to staying off for the remainder of this year with an additional caveat; I must be able to have a small conversation, a cordial exchange if you will, in French with another person, before I sign back on. 

Looking for future volunteers!

I’ll need a moment to practice and hone in on my skills, but if Instagram taught me anything, it’s that if you do something enough, your brain can change in an instant.