My Private Instagram
My struggles with social media and the overwhelming desire to see the heart button light up my life.
I have not intentionally scrolled through social media since mid-September, 2024. At the time of this writing, it has been just over ten months - my longest calculated pause since signing up for Facebook in 2007. Instagram followed five years later. Posting to and checking these platforms became so ingrained in my routine that I would open the apps by mere reflex and often check one or the other instead of, for example, the weather app. I would end up spending 10 to 15 minutes swiping through the eternal slot-machine of content and completely forget why I was on my phone in the first place. Once locked into the feed, I would flip-flop between the two. When IG bored me, FB saved the day and when FB failed to satiate, why not check something like Gmail? Surely there is an Inbox (1) waiting for me there. Rinse and repeat throughout the day. Of course some of this content made me smile and some of it made me frown. However, most of it sparked unnecesary jealousy as I entered the comparison hyperloop, which mostly led to a low sense of self-worth.
And do I ever miss this routine! I miss it more and more as time goes on; not less as I had initially hypothesized when I began this pause last September. I miss seeing updates from friends, family, acquaintances, colleagues, former students, bands, and even brands. You name it - all the metaphorical highlight reels. I miss liking posts and getting that little rush of sugary goodness to the pleasure centers of my brain after tap, tap, tapping away as I scrolled through the bottomless glass while sipping my morning brew. I miss posting photographs that had the potential to immediately acquire at least six likes in its first hour of existence. I miss going out on photo walks or travel adventures with the intention of getting that one Instagrammable moment, only to be disappointed hours later when it did not do so well. Thus, I’d sit and think to myself what a lousy photographer I was. Or worse yet, opening the app 30 minutes after a post and being met with ZERO likes. I also miss seeing other photographer’s amazing work and comparing myself to each and every last one of them. 10k likes here. 4k likes there. 100k likes over there! Wow! What that must feel like to open your Instagram and have so many likes and DMs that your brain can barely process all the dopamine and you feel as high as a kite, put on that Violent Femmes song, and blister off into the sun. I miss this all. It still haunts me after nearly a year of intentionally avoiding these temptations.
Needless to say, the stranglehold social media once had on my daily smartphone usage is a bit concerning. Not a day has gone by that I do not think about social media, which include visions of the feed flashing before my eyes and receiving likes, comments, tags, and DMs. The question that has been haunting me is should I go back and if so, to what capacity? Previous intentional pauses from social media have found me going back more frequently than before I had taken the break. Perhaps I should get an app blocker to make sure I only spend 15 minutes a day on the platform? Perhaps I should just check it only before and after work? First thing in the morning? Post once a week and only check it Saturdays at 10am to maintain contact with this network? Social Media has had such control over me that I am no longer sure I can function as a normal human being without feeding the feed, or being fed from the feed. And I am not blaming social media for any of this. I chose and have chosen to keep coming back. No one ever once forced me to share, comment, like, or continuously check any of these platforms.
However, last September I knew I needed a break. Cold turkey. Like when I quit smoking cigarettes that January morning in Duluth. Smoking alone out on the front stoop in minus 15 degrees just wasn’t bringing me much joy anymore. Enough was enough. The desire for nicotine was starting to control my life and happiness. Much like posting into the abyss of content just wasn’t as rewarding or fun anymore. But I want to light up again. Chain-smoke two packs of Marlboro Light goodness and feel that sense of connectedness and purpose again. Find out what my favourite bands are up to. Find out what my cousins are up to. Find out everything. And keep coming back for more and more, never to ever truly be satisfied. I now understand that no amount of likes or comments will ever satisfy that desire.
How do I return in a healthy way without a sense of overwhelming jealousy each time I see a post of family, friends, relatives “living their best lives”? Late Night personality Seth Meyers summed it up quite wittily and even more accurately: “I open Instagram for three reasons: To post a pic that makes my life look cooler than it is. To get jealous when a friend posts a pic that makes their life look cooler than it is, and to see if the ‘for you’ page recommends any AI generated lingerie models.” Funny? Well, depends who you ask. True? Likely.
Additionally, Mel Robbins, host of one the most successful podcasts on the planet, has a theory called “Let Them,” which claims to set anyone who applies these two words “free from the exhausting cycle of trying to manage everything and everyone around you.” I am not sure if I can apply this theory to practice, but it sure is worth a shot. I can try as I might to apply it to each and every post, every day, every hour, every second I spend on the platform. If I cannot “let them” then is it possible to “let me”?
In the meantime, while it feels like I am stuck between stations, I have created this little corner of the web. My own private Instagram if you will. A place I can share without the worry of photographs and writings being liked/not liked; loved/not loved; commented on/not commented on; shared/not shared. Sure, the dopamine rush is far less potent by sharing photographs and thoughts on a website, but for me it just feels a little safer. The question still remains if I will go back to using social media. Maybe the better question is, can I go back to using social media instead of social media using me? Again, I do miss it, and feel that with the appropriate balance and moderation, anything and everything can be consumed in a healthy fashion. One Big Mac a month, you say? Go for it! But do I need to post about it?
Here’s a set of photographs I probably would have shared on social media. Don’t forget to like and…wait…uh…whatever…nevermind. See you on Instagram again someday.
On the Way Home
I find some sort of magic with each click, click, click of the shutter which keeps me optimistic and persistent in this practice.
During semester breaks I have a bit more time to focus my attention on taking photographs. My creative juices shift from attempting to devise interesting ways to teach stative verbs and gerunds to attempting to frame the world in all its unfamiliarity. Once the semester starts, however, my photography slowly starts to fade, collecting digital dust on 2TB hard drives and Lord-only-knows which server farm that hosts my Lightroom files. My website and other creative projects, such as music making take a back seat as I focus on my teaching, mostly only snapping shots on the weekends, which recently has turned into quite The Weekend Report with my good friend David Goeb.
Despite how tired I may be after a day of teaching, I still maintain the practice of taking a handful of shots every evening on my walk home from the station. I usually follow the same route, passing the local bike shop, park, bank and supermarket. The Hankyu Line recently changed its timetable and I will occasionally alight one stop earlier for an extra 15 minutes or so of attempting to capture life. I often come home empty handed. The light can be challenging to work with at this time of day and my mind can be exhausted from engaging inside the classroom all day. Thus, neither my thoughts nor my photography are at their proverbial sharpest.
However, I find some sort of magic with each click, click, click of the shutter which keeps me optimistic and persistent in this practice. And just sometimes I will snag something that I think will be worth looking back on. It is my hope and goal to continue this practice until I can no longer press the shutter or the simple act of stopping time in rectangular fashion no longer thrills me. I recently read somewhere that it is probably better to write your goals down and share them with someone. Here we go.
He Only Sings When He’s Sad
Was I disappointed he didn’t play the aforementioned song that led me to M. Ward fandom for all these years?
It must have been around the time my journalism instructor in undergrad was giving a brief lecture on the importance of not beginning your news article with “it” that I first came across M. Ward’s music. All 2:38 of “Vincent O’ Brien” grabbed my entire conscience and I was immediately drawn into the warmth of not only Ward’s voice, but the entirety of his production, a sound not unlike many others, but one all his own. A challenging task for any artist: Draw from your influences while spinning your own spin.
Since that first introduction to M. Ward’s catalogue in the early 2000s, I have continued to enjoy his music. I was lucky enough to see him open for Bright Eyes on their Lifted tour in 2002. In 2004, I saw him perform with Conor Oberst and Jim James on their “Monsters of Folk” tour (the three later formed Monsters of Folk and released a pretty great record in 2009). Other memories of M. Ward’s music includes hearing one or two of his tracks from Post-War at my good friend’s wedding reception in 2007 and recently rediscovering his 2009 release Hold Time thanks to the abundant used CD market in Japan. In short, M. Ward has been a memorable part of my musical conscience for the better part of two decades.
M. Ward telling stories
When I found out he was touring Japan this spring in support of For Beginners: The Best of M. Ward, it was a no-brainer to secure tickets to his Noon+Cafe performance in Osaka. My wife Airi and I arrive at Noon+Cafe a bit early as we had a hunch we could snag a place to sit. Our prediction was correct and we found two seats stage-left/middle-back; roughly 10 metres from the cozily lit stage. Noon+Cafe is intimate, as perhaps the name suggests, and immediately upon entering it felt like the absolutely ideal place to see an artist such as M. Ward. It is dark with no frills, a faint smell of lingering tobacco from years gone by, and a small staircase stage-left, leading up to the green room where M. Ward awaited his entry to the 80 or so in attendance. Before M. Ward took the stage, a bottle of red wine with its cork patiently resting on top was placed on a table across from M. Ward’s patiently awaiting Martin. An announcement was made that taking video would be prohibited, but that it would be ok to take flash-free photographs. There would also only be one set and M. Ward would also be available to sign vinyl records and other items after the performance.
M. Ward exits stage left
With all housekeeping items out of the way, we were left to wait just a few more minutes before M. Ward emerged from the attic, grabbed his guitar and eased us into his world with two guitar-only songs, one of them being “Duet for Guitars #3” from Transfiguration of Vincent. Now, here is where I must refer to the importance and absolute beauty of M. Ward’s sound. As soon as the guitar reverberated from the amp and began to fill the room, we were transported into the M. Ward sound that he has so masterfully executed throughout his catalog. Some may call it warm, others may call it analog gold, or sepia-toned-Americana-folk-blues; an inimitable ambience. It is quite difficult to put into words what exact tones M. Ward assembles from his guitar and amplifier and perhaps even unnecessary, but rare it is to hear an artist perform a selection of songs from their catalog in the way M. Ward did at the Noon+Cafe. He not only masterfully represented the sound of his recorded work in the live setting, but also recreated it in a way that gave the songs this entire new life; a life only for those lucky enough in attendance to hear. Ward treated us to nearly 90 minutes of these recreations, which included gratitude filled stage banter, two encores and a multitude of live looping his guitar to magnetically fill the room.
Was I disappointed he didn’t play the aforementioned song that led me to M. Ward fandom for all these years? Well, maybe a tad, but in the end I was won over just as much as hearing his music for the very first time.
Promotional poster on cafe door
I Already Know What the Next Song Will Be
Is hearing a legendary album played live sequentially an exciting and/or overall good experience?
WEEZER
Zepp Bayside Osaka
Tuesday, January 7, 2025
19:00-20:40
This past winter, I finally got a chance to see the celebrated rock band Weezer perform live. The concert began promptly at 7pm, like a movie in the theatre, but without the popcorn and dimly lit aisles. Their entire performance clocked it at around one hour and 40 minutes.
Before attending the show I did not check their previous show setlists. I prefer being surprised by what a live act will do on any given night. I knew that Weezer had recently wrapped up a tour in the United States which celebrated the 30th anniversary of their classic debut Blue Album. On the American tour, the band played said record in its entirety (and presumably in order). In Osaka, it was a mystery if this was on their agenda. The show began with a smattering of non-Blue Album radio hits, which included the likes of "Beverly Hills" (Make Believe - 2005), "Island in the Sun" and "Hash Pipe" (Green Album - 2001) and even the college-radio-hit “You Gave Your Love To Me Softly” (Angus Soundtrack - 1995). Weezer then launched into a series of songs from their much-loved, but not at the time critically-adored, but now heavily-lauded, sophomore album, Pinkerton. They played "Across the Sea", "Getchoo" "Pink Triangle" and one or two others. Still no sign of the Blue Album. Enter a short intermission and a clothing change. After an announcement from frontman Rivers Cuomo that they were about to enter the Blue Universe it was apparent what the next 40 minutes would entail: The Blue Album played front to back, sequentially and with very minimal (if any) stage banter in between.
And this brings me to my key observation and question: Is hearing a legendary album played live sequentially an exciting and/or overall good experience? Subjective of course, but aren’t most essays? I argue that while it was most excellent to hear every song on The Blue Album performed live, knowing that they were playing it in order and without much interruption or anticipation was surprisingly a little awkward and an oh-so-slight, well, almost, dare I say, letdown. That may be a harsh critique, I understand. Clearly a lot of these album anniversary tours are geared to do just that: Rehash a memory of 20 plus years ago, tantalizing our collective amygdala, as we sing-a-long in an irreversible bliss of nostalgia. However, there is zero element of surprise when an artist/band/musician plays an entire album in its entirety in its recorded order. No one leaves the concert saying to their friends, “I cannot believe they played the near-eight-minute closing song ‘Only in Dreams’”! It took a bit of the mystery and wonder away from what a live show has the potential to be, and nearly made it feel like watching a movie for the third time. Still entertaining, but you know exactly what is going to happen.