I don't want to post that, sorry

Fighting against the current, some things are better left unsaid

Who struggles with social media as a whole but knows it’s ingrained in our modern (oh-so-modern) society, so is confused as to what to do with it, raise your hand 🖐

Although I feel alone in this conundrum, surely I’m not the only one. We are never the only ones. On a planet with roughly 8.2 billion human beings (more if we consider the rural areas), there’s no chance I’m alone in this line of thought. Someone out there is wrestling with the same push-and-pull, trying to navigate the expectations and realities of digital existence.

Yet, many of those who surround me closely don’t share the same opinion. I often find myself scrambling for arguments as to why I don’t want to post “that.” A picture of a holiday, a very cliché reel of a yoga pose, a photo of a meal, a picture of me. “Post it, it’ll get you followers,” they say. Maybe one day I do, thinking it might be nice to put it out there. But of course, nothing changes. And luckily I don’t expect it to.

Social media is the place where we are supposed to stay connected but somehow end up feeling lonelier. It pits us against strangers in competitions for things that don’t even matter, like followers. We cling to the hope that these arbitrary metrics will make life worthwhile when, in reality, life is so much richer without the noise.

This constant comparison creates questions: am I doing enough? Is my art good enough? Am I fit enough? Have I worked hard enough? But what does enough even mean? Who decided this should be the bar we all reach for? We compete against a phantom standard, a specter that doesn’t care about what we actually do. We chase “enough,” as if crossing its invisible finish line will finally deliver happiness. But what if I don’t want happiness in that form? What if I want contentment instead?

So what if my art and writing get no views? That shouldn’t diminish their importance to me. Just because they remain unseen doesn’t mean they don’t exist or serve their purpose. They are my creations, and they matter, even in solitude.

I don’t want to post about my life because it’s my life. I don’t get a second take. I don’t have infinite time. Chances are, I probably have less than I can truly fathom. Just as I don’t push my ideologies on others, I dislike it when others try to impose theirs on me. I have my morals and priorities, “you” have yours, and that should be acceptable. So why isn’t it? If I’ve made peace with certain things, why must others pick at them, looking for flaws? Meddling in other people’s life, clearly with too much time in their hands.

Social media is a tool, but when a tool begins to control us, it ceases to serve its purpose. So it becomes something else, hidden behind the shadows of our blissful unaware selves. Humans have an extraordinary knack for turning their creations into ash, though not in the fertile way natural ash can be.

As a graphic designer and yoga teacher, I should feel the want or need to share my practices. Oddly, I don’t. Sharing my work feels imposter-y. Sharing the art I create to feel better feels suffocating. Sharing how I do my yoga self-practice seems showing off-y. I’m also so much more than these roles, and no social media platform can ever capture that. Life is meant to be lived, not simply displayed. Social media might give us much, but it takes just as subtly. Like a high roll d&d rogue pulling off a sleight-of-hand check, we don’t even see it happening.

So why am I even on Instagram? Mostly so parents know I exist before they meet me for a yoga class, or to post things I enjoy without worrying about coherence. I try to use it as a restricted visual journal more than anything else.

Restricted, because I’m okay with the idea that no one will ever know me completely. Why? Simply because I don’t owe anyone an explanation unless I choose to give one. Some things are better left unsaid and unseen. There’s beauty in the silence, just as there is in deciding what to share. And I find a lot of beauty in the creative expressions that emerge from the isolation of keeping something unshared.

This is where platforms like Substack feel different. There’s a kind of intentionality to it, a sense that it’s about meaningful exchanges rather than fleeting validation. I hope it stays that way, though that might be wishful thinking. For now, I’ll keep finding solace in spaces that let me create and connect on my own terms.

Some church details I shot last year that I find beautiful