In my time spent backpacking around the world, I met a lot of “influencers.” Despite their powerful online presence, most of them were like all the other people I met while traveling.
I noticed a trend among the people with a strong social media presence. If they went a long time without posting, they would share a story something along the lines of, “Sorry for the delay guys, I’ve been super busy.” They would then proceed to post five minutes of video recapping their latest adventures. After watching one of these updates for the fifteenth time, I realized something: I don't give a shit.
Alright, that's a bit harsh. I enjoy keeping up with all of the interesting people I’ve met along the way. But if one of them deleted every single social media account, it wouldn't even register on my radar. Their lack of presence would be filled by the infinite array of entertainment options I have at my fingertip.
During my trip, close friends and family were always asking for updates. I sent them a lot of pictures and stories about the places I’d been. They were genuinely interested in my whereabouts, and always appreciated the check-ins. However, the larger footprint of my social media circle was likely not as tuned in.
I was never much of an influencer, but I made the occasional Instagram post. I would spend hours selecting only the highest quality photos that best portrayed the highlights of my adventure. I tried to select images that made it look like my life was on easy mode, that I was navigating the globe without a care in the world.
What I didn’t post about was the time I had to sleep alone in a bus terminal in Bolivia, or had a panic attack in the Philippines, or cried in a parking lot in New Zealand. These memories will forever be etched in my mind, but my instagram followers never got to see those struggles.
My intention is not to judge the decisions people make about sharing their lives. Content creation has become a viable career path, and that trend will only accelerate. I’m thankful for the things I’ve learned through watching the lives of others.
But the best art comes from intrinsic motivation.
I didn’t decide to publish these writings with hopes of making money and drawing the admiration of others. If that happens as a side effect, I will gladly accept it. But the main purpose of these essays is to remind myself of the mistakes I’ve made, in an attempt to not repeat them in the future. The act of constructing my thoughts in a way that will be comprehensible to others results in better comprehension of the subjects myself.
Despite my attempts at authenticity, every decision I make is ultimately affected by how I think others will perceive it. From the clothes I wear, to the media I consume, to the career path I take. All of these choices are intentional, to carefully craft the image I portray to the outside world.
But freedom of expression is a right that has been attained through centuries of human suffering. Therefore, it would be a shame to let someone else’s opinion dictate how I decide to express that freedom.
Whenever I find myself agonizing over the impression I’m making on others, I try to remember that the other person is spending a lot more time analyzing their own performance.
The ego likes to imagine itself as the star of the show. We are the main character, and the audience is on the edge of their seats. In reality, our story is but one tiny part in the vast expanse of consciousness.