10/06/2026

I’ve been trying to think of a *worthy* first post but I’ve given up on the hopes to grab your attention with something interesting. I figured I’d stick to being a little more raw and authentic even if it’s not as articulate and structured. But, I will surly try, these are the thoughts I have today. 

I’m 27, it’s October. I’m sitting on a plane to Salt Lake City. The flight is packed full but thankfully I’m in a window seat so I can squish myself into the wall. The taste of Chili’s southwest rolls still in my mouth and my stomach aching because I ate too many. Oversized hoodie, basketball length shorts and my disgustingly worn and stained van slip ons. My hair is tangled and there’s and good chance my extension tracks have been on full display at a few points throughout the day. I have my backpack that I bring everywhere, heavy with a bunch of stuff I don’t use enough to justify the weight. Leopard print travel neck pillow and my cheetah print travel blanket tangled onto it so I don’t have to carry another thing by hand. 

I’ve been looking for ways to keep my mind active. I’m not sure if it’s the rise of AI, the chemicals I work with or the isolation periods I seem to put myself through now. I can feel my vocabulary slipping, I’m no longer eloquent in the way I express my thoughts and feelings. Honestly, I question that I ever was. I stutter, use filler words religiously and struggle to find the words that describe my thoughts and feelings properly. I’ve tried to enter in a diary, but god I just cannot stick with it. Maybe this is inspired by my recent obsession in Sex and the City and Carrie’s narrations. But it’s certainly inspired by a friend of mine who writes entries in a personal blog and really, the only reason my attention was brought to an outlet like this. 

Although sharing deep and personal thoughts on here sounds a little daunting at first, I’m warming up to it. I believe we all crave connection. A painful symptom of today’s world and in social media is our desensitization to the human experience. The real human experience. We all post what we want others to see, never exploiting our bad moments. If we do, it’s like we’ve entered into a small town circus act for all our peers and loved ones to gawk at. I guess it’s only natural, our shame of unfortunate moments in our life’s. Sometimes the best way to get through is to cover it up or glamorize it. Even down to the little things, being ashamed of a home because you have a laundry chair in your room and it doesn’t look like the posted rooms you saw on Instagram that week. And I’m not any better, certainly not. I have fallen victim to the influencer culture making you feel like what you have isn’t enough. Sometimes I still do. Hell I probably contribute to it without realizing. Saying the grass isn’t greener on the other side would be a complete lie. But I know that if you water your grass, care for it and keep consistent, eventually your grass can be green too. 

I can’t help but feel like somehow social media has brought us all a little closer, but only through a little peep hole. Somehow, at the same time it gives us a view into others, it just pushes us away in weird ways. I see a lot of discourse on how hard it can be for some people to post on Instagram because they’re curating a post worthy for their page. And even after months of doing so, they feel embarrassed after posting. Why is that? Why do the followers and the likes and views mean so much? For years now I’ve been trying to unlearn those habits. As you’ve probably witnessed first hand if you’ve made it this far into this entry. I’ve beaten my Instagram into a place I like to be. I follow new pages every single day, usually all art, tattoos, beautiful fun things that I love. Friends, family, pages that express positivity. I block and mute things I don’t want to see like my life depends on it. I am happy to push that *not interested* button whenever stuff pops up that drags me down. Not just in Instagram but all over my phone. Not just on my phone but in life. As within, so without. I’ve trained my brain to find beauty in the littlest snapshots of life all over. I post them all, arguably probably too often. But I love to share the beauty I see. I love the raw little moments. Raw and vulnerable moments in life make it worth living. I love talking to a friend and getting vulnerable. A position I want to find myself in more, because it is hard. Throughout my life, and even more so the last few years, I’ve become so resilient. To a fault I’m sure. It’s hard to open up and spew out some thoughts because first of all I know it’s all going to work out. I find myself constantly sharing little things and experiences with friends that have no substance. And I wonder, is constantly sharing things with no value my attempt to avoid what’s below it? Is “working through” each feeling actually working or is it really just a sneaky trick to stuff it all in for another day? And then I wonder, are we all doing this?

I’m not quite sure where or how to end this. I feel like I could type to myself forever going in circles without ever finding a solution. And now I sit here and think there’s no way I could post nonsense like this, cause it must be irrelevant. Irrational, unnecessary. And yet I post it, because if I continue to stuff my thoughts down my throat because they’re not written down well enough, not spoken with intention and clarity then I may never speak again. And maybe the stutter will get worse, maybe the vocabulary will never come. Maybe the scratch in my throat and the shakes I feel in my body when I speak and the tears I feel wanting to well up in my eyes with frustration, maybe that gets worse. So today, I post. Because what would my life be if I constantly waited for the perfect curated moment to live?