Nothing makes me feel less like an outsider than my Instagram feed. A large, large percentage of my Instagram feed are my friends and people I work with and people I actually know. I marvel at the world that they see and capture on photographs. It interests me how they see themselves and they see the world around them.
I have to admit that I’ve been affected by the photos I’ve seen on my IG feed. Camera angles and how the use of filters can make an image seem more than what it is. It’s like my attitude towards life, change the angle, shift the perspective, and you’ll see something completely new, even if you were looking at exactly the same thing.
But oftentimes, I also feel so much like an outsider. A lot of my friends post workout selfies, food shots of amazing dishes in new restaurants that they’ve discovered, book covers, travel photos, un-self-conscious selfies. I look at these and enjoy them but I also look at them and I don’t see myself in them.
You could see the joy they get when they try a delicious new dish in some new restaurant. Travel photos, for sure. New exotic places. For those who workout, beach shots or half-naked photos showing off the hard work they’ve put themselves through to achieve something.
I’m jealous but I also feel alone. I’m a creature of habit. I’ve discovered I’m only adventurous when I’m with someone taking the lead. On my own, I go for the safest choice.
As a creature of comfort, I usually eat in tried and tested places, and I usually order the same thing. I can never maintain a workout regiment. Nothing sticks. It takes everything out of me to get out of my bed and engage in the world lately. I’d rather stay in bed and sleep or rest. I’d rather read, watch a movie on Netflix or iFlix, or play Final Fantasy Tactics on my iPad.
A good day, for me, is getting out of bed, cleaning the house, taking a shower, and writing. A lot of writing. And watching movies or a television show.
But I want things too. I’ve just gotten so used to not having money that I have stopped wanting things.
Travel, I think, is the only time when I feel at my best. I don’t mind getting lost, I always manage to find my way. I love seeing new things in a different country. And when I’m somewhere new, and everything is unfamiliar, I feel like the best version of myself comes out. I’m all of a sudden fearless. I’m adventurous.
It’s why I like traveling alone. Because I don’t revert back to my complimentary self. I don’t become the subordinate person I’ve become accustomed to being here in my everyday world.
Maybe that’s why I’m working like a dog these days. I haven’t been going out because I don’t want to be the person I’ve always been. I don’t go out and see people because I’d rather take work (or rest) and just make money. I want to pay off all my debts and then travel.
I want to get back the person I was when I was in Portugal and Spain in 2014. I had so much time on my own and unless I was with my family (or one of my best friends when I was in Madrid) I was brave.
I want to be brave again. I want to be like other people.