Instagram Stories Dilute the Experience
My friends recently took me to a speakeasy in the outskirts of Baltimore, MD. To begin, I didn’t even know that they still existed. This particular speakeasy didn’t date back to Prohibition-era Baltimore, but was aesthetically and functionally identical.
No signs or landmarks overtly mark its existence — the only way you know about it is word of mouth. On entering, your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness of the candle-lit interior. Old bottles and older books are perilously stacked and nested behind the bar. The bar’s occupants are deep in quiet conversation, and the floor creaks as you move towards the bar. A bartender hands you a leather bound menu, and your olfactory senses tingle from the mint and teatree that permeates the air. Velvet curtains are drawn back to reveal private alcoves with worn, beautiful tables and benches.
I was internally freaking out for a good 20 minutes. Every table, candle, painting, curtain, cocktail, and chair was meticulously picked to complete the environmental ambiance of a Prohibition era speakeasy. The place reeked with attention to detail.
Being a photographer, my default instinct is to capture what I see and share it. I discreetly snapped a few shots off, intent on posting them to my Instagram story.
I had a nagging sense, however, that this action would dilute the moment and evening as a whole, and also cheapen the truth of what the establishment stands for.
You only know if you’re in the know.
Seeing it on Instagram is a sordid excuse for the intimacy of sharing such a juicy secret.
So, I put my phone away for the rest of the night, and felt more actively engaged and present in my friend’s lives than I had in months.
The realization of this stuck with me as I went about my day. I felt physically different as well, like the time we had spent was exclusively and intimately ours, unbothered by petty distractions that would keep us from deep and meaningful relationship.
I just realized it sounds like I’m talking about sex. But hey, there might be something to that. Ideally, when having sex there’s nothing that’s taking away from that present moment. You’re fully there, fully engaged, and fully intimate.
I guess I’m making an argument for relational copulation. Bang it out, friends. Forgo the contraceptives of Instagram and social media. Make some big, beautiful, planned babies of memories.
This analogy has gone too far. I’m annoyed at how well it’s worked.
The point I’m making, though, is that I only had this experience because my mind was fully present. I wasn’t trying to make all my friends and followers jealous by proving to them that my life is exciting and variable through the medium of my Instagram story. I wasn’t passively aggressively posting a story to show an ex or rival that I was thriving without them. I was present, and that presence allowed me to enrich my friend’s lives more fully than before.
I used to justify this habit by rationalizing, “Oh, I’m only sharing my experience with my friends who can’t be here!” That’s all well and good, but the quality of your inclusion suffers with the rising quantity.
By taking the time to edit and post stories under the premise of inclusion, you’re actively excluding your present company, including yourself. Instead, keep the quality of your inclusion high and fully share the present experience with those around you.
So put the phone away and take pictures and videos with your mind. Experience your environment with all five senses, not just through your camera lens.
Be present and pour into those around you.
Observe deeply, listen carefully, laugh fully, and experience completely.
