I’m lying on my stomach on a floating dock on a river. It’s a cool October day but the sunshine and my fisherman’s sweater are keeping me warm. I’m resting my head on my arm, comfortable on the blanket I laid out on the plastic dock. I reach my hand over the edge of the dock to dip my fingertips in the swiftly, but smoothly, flowing water. The water is cold. I wonder for a moment if any little fish will come up to nip at my fingertips. I smell a hint of salt in the air. I hear the flock of pigeons on the other side of the river cooing. I see the clouds in the blue sky reflected in the water. I feel a peaceful joy in this moment.
I should capture this on video.
I had driven 15 hours over two days through four provinces to arrive at a little cottage on the east coast of Prince Edward Island for five days of relaxing and exploring before making the same long drive home. I went on vacation. Alone. Why did I want to share that moment with people in an Instagram post? I immediately shamed myself for my instinct to capture and share a beautiful moment and decided it would be futile anyway. A 15-second video of my fingers in a river wouldn’t capture the entirety of what I was experiencing at that moment. And why would I want to share it? If I wanted someone to experience that moment with me, I would have invited someone to join me.
I didn’t go to the Anne of Green Gables part of the island, but I kept her in my heart. I tried to keep her optimism, her appreciation of nature, her adventurous spirit with me as I explored and enjoyed myself. I also watched Anne with an E in the evenings. Would Anne have Instagram? She was more of a writer than a visual artist, but then having a camera in your pocket at all times makes anyone a visual artist. Maybe if she’d had photography, she would have taken to it as a way to capture nature’s beauty. Or maybe she’d still prefer to keep the picture in her mind and use 1000 words to describe it. Though, with Instagram, you can do both. (Well, up to 2,500 characters.)
I took lots of photos, and a few short videos, over the next week. Once a day or so I texted a photo to a friend with a message about what incredible experience I had had that day. But I stayed off Instagram, as is my vacation tradition. I can post later, I tell myself; I don’t want to spend my precious vacation minutes curating photos and crafting Instagram captions. I found myself crafting Instagram captions in my head despite myself.
Like Anne, I love adventuring on my own. It feels amazing to figure out the roads (okay, that’s mostly Google Maps), find where to park, and then go forth with all the essentials in a backpack like- I got this. I am woman, hear me roar. I am adult, watch me walk. Along this trail. Or beach. And take in the views. And stop to take touristy selfies. If I set out to enjoy my time alone, why should I try to share it with everyone?
Everyday, I set out to one or two places (lighthouses, beaches, hiking trails). But I always ended up back at the cottage by mid afternoon to lie on the dock and soak up the sun. I was trying to make the most of my trip (I didn’t need to drive 15 hours to just sit in a cottage, I told myself) but it’s also vacation, so I wanted to relax and do whatever felt good in the moment. Anne wouldn’t think an afternoon lying in the sun is a waste of time. My spot on that dock gave “so much scope for the imagination.” While I could have relaxed in the sun at a cottage closer to home, I would not have been able to see, from that dock, crabs fighting over territory on the river bed, beautiful little lobsters scaring off the crabs, a golden eagle and bald eagle fighting over who gets which tree top, and, most spectacularly, an adorable little seal swimming upstream. When I saw what turned out to be the seal’s head peeking out above the water from the cottage window, I ran out to the dock in my slippers, no phone or camera. If I had thought to grab one, I might not have made it out there in time to see the seal pop it’s adorable puppy head above the water as it passed the dock, and look at me with those big black eyes before sliding back underwater. I don’t need a photo or video to remember the time I saw a seal swimming in a river.
Would posting a video of a seal in a river make me popular on Instagram? I doubt it, and why am I even considering what would perform well in the Instagram algorithm? Is Instagram fame important to me? A few days before I left for PEI, I had posted a video about my 15 years on YouTube. I reminisced over the videos I had made over the years, and pondered aloud why I’d spent all that time making videos that no one watched. I wondered why I kept doing it- what was the goal? I knew for a while it was YouTube fame but hadn’t I learned by now that that wasn’t going to happen and not to count on it?
Why do I post on Instagram? For fame? To connect with friends? When I got home from my trip, instead of sorting through my photos and videos to create a series of Instagram posts, I stayed off Instagram. Like kicking a bad habit, I resisted it, telling myself it would be safe to open it up again once I stopped wanting to open it up. Instead, I put my photos and videos in chronological order in a folder and shared them, and stories about what I did, in person with my best friend, with a couple of friends over a poor quality Zoom call, and with my parents. Like a good old fashioned slide show. It was a fun way to relive the trip and be able to share with someone knowing I have their attention. Posting on Instagram is a strange, unnatural, one-sided communication. I put my images and words out there, not knowing which of my friends will see, or care. After my trip, I thought I would stop posting on Instagram and instead reach out to friends directly more often. Text a friend a photo of something weird I just saw so we can laugh about it, rather than putting it in my Instagram story. It’s not really sharing if you don’t know who’s on the receiving end, and they don’t share back. Connection isn’t one-way.
Anne would never let her relationship with Diana become just reacting with emojis to each other’s Instagram stories. The Annes and Dianas of today are writing each other long letters via email, frequently sending each other memes, and spending hours on Facetime calls. Despite reducing my Instagram use drastically, I have not replaced it equally with direct friend contact as I intended. Instagram is a low-risk way of reaching out to friends. You throw a wide net and only talk to the ones who respond, and don’t worry about the friends that don’t. Turns out reaching out to friends individually takes a lot more effort and, crucially, vulnerability. Not getting a response to a text hurts a lot more than an under-performing Instagram story.
They warn you to be careful about what you share on the Internet because it will always be there (to embarrass you later is the implication) but I find the opposite to be true. Internet content is fleeting. Social media posts disappear into crowded timelines. Blog posts and YouTube videos are seen then forgotten as the viewer moves onto the next one. The content may stay where you put it online but the audience doesn’t. After years of putting content on the internet, seeking some kind of recognition or fame, I’m finally seeing it crumble down as I question- What is the point? My videos and blog posts have no public audience and my Instagram posts have no friends to see them. Who is this really for?
I’m reclining in my balcony chair, which I’m using inside because it’s actually the most comfortable seat I can create for typing. Beyond my laptop screen, my TV displays a desktop wallpaper of a gloomy forest (from my November wallpaper folder, even though it’s February- I’m sick of winter but it’s too soon to trick myself with my Spring wallpapers of pastel flowers). I’m covered in black blankets, the heater’s on making it just bearable, though my toes are always cold even with slippers. The scented candle I lit is too perfumey and is making me sneeze but it’s all had in the closet after the Christmas candles were done. I grab a couple of Mini Eggs from a black and gold metal container every few minutes and melt them in my mouth. And I’m typing. I’m writing a blog post about my trip to PEI, using Anne of Green Gables hypotheticals to describe my changing relationship to Instagram and creating Internet content. I’m not sure if it’s very cohesive, but it doesn’t really matter. It’ll be forgotten as soon as I post it.
