Oh fuck. I’m already overthinking my last two Advanced Open Water dives – Wreck and Deep, nervousness growing. I am nervous not because of going underwater – I am now very comfortable underwater – but because I have never had a dive buddy I did not know and I have never been diving with a group. Granted, I didn’t know my folks from Raleigh my first dive trip in Curaçao but I never got off the boat! I couldn’t do it. So, I am spoiled – I love diving one-on-one with my instructors – I have confidence and comfort with them. But I never had just a regular dive buddy I do not know. I…don’t like this idea. But I know I must make the transition sometime and I must quit being a baby about all this. I must grow up if I am to master this hobby. And so. Into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of N.C. with sharks I go. Angela will become an adult this weekend. I am excited but, yes, I am scared. And I am finishing Enriched Air this week before I dive. 3 new things on me. Maybe I am trying to do too much too soon? What is this fire that has been lit in me? I cannot control it…it feels so good…stay tuned for how these dives go.
Category Archives: Scuba Diving
This morning I found my dive journal from June, my 1st time in the quarry, my first Open Water checkout dive. It seems nuts now as I get closer to finishing AOW: “I keep reliving the feeling of dying, of drowning. I’ve been obsessed with diving for months. I just spent over $2000 on my own equipment before even getting in the water. Another $5000 on a 2-week trip to Curaçao and part of that to dive. I guess I will like Curaçao but I do NOT want to go. Because I am afraid of diving. I no longer need to move to the Caribbean for diving. I am cured of that need. I absolutely do NOT want to dive ever. Being underwater is a misery. The pressure is too much. I will not do it. But I had to try though. I will never return to that hellscape that is the rock quarry – Fantasy Lake my ASS. My God, thinking of being under that water, I cannot breathe. I am sweating, heart racing. No, diving is not for Angela.”
I also share this for folks who think they cannot dive. #nevergiveup
Sept. 28, 2019. I must confess. I was nervous diving into the dark, mucky quarry today in 5-foot visibility. The water had all the visibility of swimming in a chocolate milkshake. But, here’s the thing. Once I got down there under the water, it didn’t matter to me that I could barely see my instructor or my dive buddy. I had lots of tasks to do so I didn’t care if I could see. And I realized when I am focused on several tasks, my awareness around me expands. I feel my body floating and I enjoy the sheer act of being in the water. And much to my utter happiness, I always felt so comfortable and calm throughout the tasks – though I still take FOREVER to equalize. So, today I finished Peak Performance Buoyancy, Search & Recovery, and Underwater Navigation. And I completed everything on the first try (well, no, not true – some of the knot tying tripped me up). Next week, I will do Deep Dive & Wreck – off the coast of South Carolina – with SHARKS! Again, I am nervous because I am so worried because it takes me so long to equalize that I will hold everyone up. But I cannot wait to see my first deep wreck dive. Tonight, after we finished up the dives, we walked over to the dive shop bonfire on the other side of the quarry – a few of us sat around in the dark, drinking beer and talking about…well…diving and then dating and then love…but mostly diving. I like diving better than dating right now (that has its own stories coming up). I genuinely love the path I am on…I have found happiness and joy in this sport. And there is such an amazing support group and community around me. Little did I know how walking into my dive shop back in April to sign up for OW and the trip to Curaçao would change the path of my life. I believe there are no coincidences in life. Or maybe they are all coincidences. But this chain of events from then to now took me out of my comfort zone and a life I was settling for. These experiences reminded me of how adventurous and brave and wild and free I truly am at heart. I found myself again. I lost her somewhere…but never ever again. Ever.
So, I am already jumping into AOW this weekend – Peak Performance Buoyancy and Underwater Nav. I bought a sweet Suunto compass for this. I’m going to be in a dank quarry with no visibility. Though my dive instructor buddy tells me this low viz is good for underwater nav because I can’t cheat – I have to be precise. I’m nervous because I am used to the crystal clear warm waters of Curaçao. Will I get it done?? Stay tuned.
I’ve become a total dork – my perfect night in is with this smelly dog and my brand new, shiny, beautiful AOW manual and taking notes in my hot pink spiral notebook. Also, I deleted all those stupid dating apps. Who needs boys when you have diving? What is happening to me?
3 years ago today marks the 1st time I ever visited the Caribbean. I was staying at the Ritz-Carlton in St. Thomas, USVI. That same day, I tried out snorkeling for the 1st time ever right there in that bay. I LOST it trying to float and wear a mask and was sure I was would die in 5 feet of water (little did I know I would have the same panic learning to dive just 3 years later). But that same day I got the hang of and from then on found myself heading all over the Caribbean about 3 times a year.
I knew from day 1 in the Virgin Islands I would live in the Caribbean and for 3 years I searched for which island was my soul mate. And then I landed in Curaçao this summer and we clicked and it was on. I loved the scruffiness, the everyday rawness of it, the desert, the European, Dutch precision and logic juxtaposed with the magical realism of the Caribbean. And I loved the clarity of the water, the diversity of the island, the fact there weren’t a lot of Americans swarming around yelling about sports (like in Aruba, which i visited once and I feel ambivalent about). The fact that folks in Curaçao are serious about diving, the arts and vibrant cultural scene and that it is big enough not to feel too confining (though, it’s small enough that everyone is only 2 or 3 people removed from having banged one another LOL – you gotta limit the sex or you will run through eligible partners real fast). Funny, this memory of my 1st time with the Caribbean pops up today because I…well, I’ll tell you later.
Well, gang, as of this morning – I have lost 25 POUNDS since my 1st trip to Curaçao this summer. It’s wild, it’s like the combo of 6 days a week working out and healthy eating has kicked my metabolism into some crazy overdrive. This is happening way faster than I ever expected – and I know the weight loss will slow down. But for now, I am doing this and committed to digging way down deep to achieve my goals. There’s a lot of dark, unresolved shit down there in the deep dark places I gotta go to dig deep, but this is how you clear out the soul and spirit. And as you know – I want to get to the point I have nearly no weight on that BCD.
First, I’ll tell you I am documenting my dive journey so that one day I can look back at the PROCESS of learning to dive. If I ever get to professional instructor level, I want to be able to recall the heavy psychology behind learning to breathe and move under water. Got it? Good.
So. Over the weekend, I signed up for AOW. Still in the fever and warm and fuzzy feeling of finishing up OW in Curacao last week, I could not wait to get back into the water. Back in Raleigh, I headed straight to my dive shop and signed up (not just for that but for a wreck dive in South Carolina and for a trip to diving trip Bonaire that is coming up soon). When I got home with my new AOW manual in hand, I flipped through it, wondering what all this cert would require of me. And I found that I have choices in what I want to pursue and specialize in – it felt like CHRISTMAS! Oh my God, I thought, I’m going down a rabbit hole and I don’t care. I’m going in with everything I have (and, it appears, with all of my hard earned money – pursuing this sport at full speed ahead requires, I have discovered, a serious outlay of cash. But the thing is, I don’t want to spend my money on anything else BUT diving. So this all works out. Also, I want to get as far as I can with diving BEFORE I move to Curacao so that I hit the sand running.
So what are my choices? I know for sure I want Fish I.D., Underwater Nav, Boat Diving, Peak Performance Buoyancy, Digital Underwater Imaging, Wreck Diving, and, yes, I want Search and Recovery. I don’t want to get ahead of myself but I want to set myself up for eventual professional level. I know, I know, Angela, slow down, enjoy the ride. But I will tell you this – I’ve engaged in a lot of things in my life and I have never felt this passionately about anything in my life. I want to define it, reign it in, control the desire and passion. But I can’t. So I am just going to roll with it and dive deep deep into my soul, heart, and the blue, blue sea. I want this more than anything I’ve wanted in a long time. And I aim to get it all and take everything I can from this journey. And I will have some failures and anxiety and panic along the way. But that’s okay. That’s how we grow – by pushing our limits and blowing through the things that scare us.
[Diary from before I went to finish OW – I was diving to gain confidence in the water.] Sept. 3 – I DID IT! Today I had my very first full dive just for fun my lovely divemaster Laura at Coral Estates in Curaçao. At this point I have the Scuba cert. Afterwards, she said I was so calm and comfortable in the water – that I did an amazing job. Though, I keep going a bit vertical which is making me kick harder. I felt so calm. And I will tell you why – 1) she frequently swam backwards and beside me to let me know her eyes were always on me 2) she had me review basic skills before we went out – I realized I was very comfortable with my basic skills which made me confident 3)she asked me to do something just for fun that will help later with Open Water – take off my mask and breathe with the reg while floating. It was so easy – I didn’t know I could do it. She then said – we don’t even need this today for having fun – but now you know you can do more than you need. I felt like a master when she said that. Again, she built my confidence. Before I knew it, we were at the reef and over the wall. I was able to completely relax and focus on the sea life. I saw a massive flounder undulating and dancing a full ballet in the water AND baby trunk fish and other stuff I don’t know what because I need a Fish ID course…I had so much fun and pure joy and I am at a new level of progress. I have never been so happy in my life. I cannot stop smiling. I sat at the beach bar after by the dive shop and sipped a gin and tonic, watching the sun set and feeling like a million dollars. One thing I have learned about diving for myself –I must build confidence at my pace – and that this whole process is one of building and scaffolding. Oh, Curaçao, I love you.
Angela’s Diving Diary, 1st week of September: couldn’t dive today. I spent so much money coming from the U.S. to Curacao to dive and scope out real estate to move here. But I came mostly to dive. And I learned a lesson – a valuable one – about the respiratory system. As some of you know, I quit smoking a few years ago. But a few nights ago I went out here in Curaçao and ended up smoking WAY too many menthol cigarettes. When I get a few gin drinks in me, the desire to smoke a cigarette comes on strong. Way strong. Drinking and smoking always used to go hand in hand for me. So I started smoking cigarettes that night like I needed them to live.
And all of that smoking fucked up my throat – I wasn’t used to it. That combined with 2 days of breathing compressed air from diving led to extreme irritation. I called the DAN medline today to ask if I should dive and received quite a lecture on how very bad it is for a diver to smoke and to not do it anymore. I was told all of the biological effects on the lungs and how that didn’t jive with being underwater. She said I may even end up with a respiratory infection and to not dive until it is checked out.
I’ve worked too hard and spent too much time and money to be a diver to mess it up with something this stupid. I do not want to ever smoke again – ever. It is NOT worth it and not part of who I am anymore.
I think I thought I could incorporate some of my old lifestyle into my new one, but it’s like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole – the 2 do not go together anymore. I am not the same person I was – I used to love to party and be out all night and smoke all the cigarettes. But I don’t know, I ain’t feeling it anymore. Partying like I am 35 just sounds exhausting to me. And no good for my diving goals.
I have learned so much about who I am by being on this island and by diving. And those cigarettes must go FOREVER! I cannot believe I went there and I am kicking myself – these stupid things screwed up my Open Water certification plan today. I am really pissed at myself. #dontdostupidstuff #ilovecuracao #nevergiveup #girlgetyourprioritiesstraight [Editor’s Note: I did finish OW the next day, but still lost a day of diving in paradise because of smoking.]
Earlier this morning, a co-worker asked me how was my trip to Curaçao. I told him about finally getting Open Water and how this has inspired me to further immerse myself into the world of diving and ocean conservation. He told me about how much he used to love diving and that he got into it from a good buddy of his.
Jim: Yeah, my friend loved diving. He was obsessed with it. We worked in IT together at Verizon. He got sick of working in an office. So he decided to quit it all at 50 years old.
Angela: No shit, that’s awesome. To do what, be a dive instructor?
Jim: Well, to be part of a dive crew on a boat in the Caribbean.
Angela: At 50 years old? That’s some tough grunt work. Damn.
Jim: Exactly, he found out real quick that being on a dive crew is a young person’s game. Even though he was really fit and super healthy. He said he just couldn’t keep up the daily hustle.
Angela: So what did he do? Seems like the best thing to do when you get older is become a boat captain or maybe maybe run a dive shop. He could still have been an instructor.
Jim: Nope, he gave it all up and moved to Texas and became a cattle rancher. He’s still doing it. Loved it.
Angela: WOW. Well, the thing is, he tried out his dream for diving. Found out that wasn’t for him long term. At least he went for it. And then he went for another dream. Sounds like your friend knew one thing for sure – he was never going back into an office.
Jim: Exactly. I wish I could do what he did.
Angela (laughing): Jim, what the fuck are we doing here? Let’s just walk out right now. Let’s do it.
Jim: God, I wish we could. But, money, Angela. Money. Bills. Mortgages. Cars. Health insurance. RETIREMENT PLANS. That’s real life, Angela. Not scuba diving and cattle ranching.
And so ended my conversation with Jim. I’ll take diving and cattle ranching over life in an office any ole’ time. It’s ALL real life. But Jim has some legitimate points and concerns about making big life changes when you are older and feel you have more to lose. Stay tuned.
#nevergiveup #ilovecuracao #girlsthatscuba
by Angela Perez
Let’s not quibble about the dude’s gear setup in the picture. You get what I’m doing here, right?
While out drinking in Curaçao one night, a friend of mine told me that part of the fun in being a dive instructor on the island is that he gets a lot of pussy out of the gig. That women who come to the shop always want to bang the hot dive instructor who taught them how to overcome their fear and do something fun and little bit dangerous.
When I got back to the States, while sitting around one afternoon drinking beer with a couple of American dive buddies (who happen to be instructors), I’ll call them Jerry and Dave (though they both said they don’t care if I name them – but I won’t do that). I relayed the island instructor’s epiphany that the job title “Divemaster” is a pussy magnet. Dave laughed and snorted out beer through his nose, “Fuck no, nope. I don’t get laid from teaching diving. Never happened. Damn, I’m teaching in the wrong place. What the fuck?”
Jerry agreed, “No way, Angela, I never got offered pussy for tips on how remove your mask without drowning. That dude is full of shit. Or he was probably trying to fuck you.”
I said, “Wait, though. Maybe he’s telling the truth. It’s not just the divemaster, student relationship that leads to sex, it’s the location. Dude, it’s because these women are on vacation. It’s vacation sex. It’s part of a whole island fling fantasy. Bored single women or even married women go to a tropical island and get their groove back courtesy of salty, oceanic, teacher cock.”
I thought about the nature of this fantasy while Dave went to go urinate (or maybe he went to jerk off thinking about the dive fantasy I just described) and Jerry went to get us more beer. The island fling scenario is so cliché, so played, so…wait, though, that’s part of the appeal, right?
When Jerry and Dave got back to the table, they both pressed me for more explanation on the island fantasy.
Jerry said, “Okay, okay. I want to know more about how a woman thinks about this divemaster thing. Maybe I’ve been playing this all wrong.”
I laughed. I said, “No, you’ve played it as well as you can in a dirty quarry on the outskirts of a boring assed city like Raleigh. That dank cold quarry will never prime a chick for the fantasy. Pussy comes out of the quarry cold and ready to just get that fucking 5 mm wetsuit off. Not sexual AT ALL. A Caribbean island for single women is NOT reality and the dive dicks that are offered to you are attached to men who are living some sort of tropical-themed Groundhog Day – every day they encounter new half-naked women who come in with the same heightened expectations, the same dream, the same desire to let go, to feel everything and care about nothing, and then the sun goes down, some drinking and fucking occurs, chick flies back to her home, and the dive instructor goes back to work, repeats the same scenario over and over again, day in and day out, until his dick falls off or he goes to a different island and starts the same day all over again.”
Jerry put his beer down and said, “I want to live this Groundhog Day, just for a few weeks. I swear to God. Take me with you when you move to Curacao and I’ll live with you and work at a dive shop.”
I laughed, “Okay, but you can’t bring these women to my house. I’m not down with that. No Fantasy Island at my new place. But it would be nice to have a roommate who can take me diving whenever I feel like it. You see, I want to use you for your diving ability, not your dick.”
Jerry said, “But you can have both. That’s how I’ll pay my rent.”
I said, “I’m liking this plan more and more.”
We all laughed and decided on tequila shots next. Dave said, “So, what about your island fantasy, Angela? What is it?”
I said, “Well, I already lived out a couple of them.”
Jerry said, “Details, please. ALL the details. Right now.”
I said…well…if you want to know what I told the fellas, stay tuned for my next blog – coming out this week…Also, some tips on whether or not to rent or buy on your sexy Caribbean island of choice. P.S. I did NOT tell them about my actual personal experiences and I’m not telling you. Some things are only for me. And my best girlfriends.
I am in a state of limbo since I left Curacao. The last clear memory I have of anything is of a slow-motion stingray that could not be touched through the turquoise sea where, all afternoon, zippy parrot fish eyeballed me in a very desultory fashion. Ah!
I mean, this means I’ve lost my soul to the sea, correct?
Back at it. I LOVE LOVE my dive shop in Raleigh – but it’s dangerous. Came in a couple of hours ago to get an adjustment on my regulator – and left with new equipment, put down a deposit on a boat dive trip to Bonaire coming up, signed up for the Advanced Open Water cert, signed up for the Night Dive campout at the quarry in a couple of weeks, and a boat dive in South Carolina. I am officially hooked, line and sinker.
I’d better leave the dive shop before I sign up for the Honduras dive. I have developed an addiction and I got it bad. But I want to get AOW before I move to Curacao. I want to be full-on ready to take advantage of all of the diving possibilities this island has to offer.
by Angela Perez
Ah, what ARE women like me (who are obsessed with scuba diving) looking for in a man other than him possessing a working penis, all of his teeth, a job, and a strong stroke?
Well, I’ll tell you.
This conversation happened between me and a co-worker at some half-assed Mexican restaurant (you know the kind, where they feature $5.99 specials called Speedy Gonzalez 1, 2, 3 and so on. And each dish tastes exactly the same but satisfies a craving so you go and eat half a pound of two day-old chips and shell out 8 bucks total plus tip for the waiter who is wearing too much Drakkar Noir and wonder why you put yourself through this mediocrity every 3 or 4 weeks.)
My co-worker, who is in her mid-30s and has been married for 10 years and has 2 children, asked me this, “So Angela, do you think you’ll find the one any time soon?”
“Find the one what?” I asked, reaching for one of the stale chips.
“You know,” she said, “the man you’ll marry.”
“You know that I believe marriage is for the weak,” I said. “You and your husband excluded.” (I just said that to pacify her. I actually count her in that bunch.)
“Oh, Angela, there’s a wonderful man out there who will make you want to run down the aisle.”
“Maybe,” I replied. I tried the guacamole. “Good Lord,” I exclaimed, “I think they put shredded jicama in this. It’s incredible!” I dipped my spoon in for another try. They had indeed put jicama in guacamole. A revelation.
“You’re avoiding the topic,” she said. “So, how about this. Tell me who your ideal man is.”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. The waiter came back to ask us how everything was even though we hadn’t gotten our food yet. The acrid smell of his cologne was actually clinging to the back of my throat, ruining the joy of jicama. Suddenly I recalled that the first time I ever had sex was with a boy wearing Drakkar and we were listening to a Metallica cassette on his boom box.
“Okay,” she said, not giving up, “let’s do this. Tell me what you absolutely don’t want in a man.”
“Hmmm…okay, that I can come up with,” I said, dipping a chip in the salsa.
“Yayyy!” she squealed, daintily clapping her hands. “Finally. So name five things quick – without even thinking about it. Aaaaand…GO!”
“So. One. I could never date a man who suggested that for a first date we eat at Olive Garden. Or any chain restaurant. I could never date a man who regularly wears golf shirts and khaki pants with pleats in them. Men should never wear pants with pleats in them. Flat front only. Wait – do those two items of clothing count as two reasons? He’s got to love to get in the ocean – swim, snorkel, dive, I don’t care. But he has to want the water as much as I do. Hmmm…also, I could never date a man who wears Y-front white underwear. Gotta wear boxer shorts or even just let your balls and dick swing in the wind. Oh, and I like nice, solid forearms. My favorite part of a man’s body. Oh and one more, I could never date a man who thinks getting a group together to get on one of those Trolley Pubs in downtown Raleigh would be a fun thing to do.”
[Trolley Pubs are found in larger cities across the U.S. They are these rolling pubs (like a giant bicycle) where up to 14 people get on and sit around a bar-in-the-round and each person pedals as they troll through the streets of downtown, drinking beer and going from pub to pub. Their revelry combined with the flashing light decorations make it the most annoying sight and sound imaginable.]
“Oh my God,” she said, frowning. She let out a sigh. “I was thinking more along the lines of you naming certain qualities like if he was a Republican or is obsessed with sports. Which I know neither of those is okay with you.”
“Those are two good ones to add to the list actually,” I said. Wow, I didn’t know she knew me that well.
She shook her head. “You are going to die alone. You can’t be so specific. One guy isn’t going to have everything.”
“I know that,” I said. “Okay, I can maybe let go of most of those except for the ocean part. It’s fundamental to what I think about, how I look at the world. I cannot get around someone not wanting to be in or near the ocean.”
“What if he doesn’t like the ocean but had a lot of money and treated you like a queen?”
“I’d rather die than concede,” I said. “Power never concedes without a demand.
“What does that even mean?” she asked.
“I don’t actually know.” I looked around, weary of the conversation and of, particularly, myself. “Where the hell is my Speedy Gonzalez number 12?”
“Do you really even truly know what you want?”
“Yes,” I answered carefully, “I want a man muscled in flame and who sweats kindness and intellect and who is funny and who will burn me to the ground causing me the exact opposite of harm.”
She rolled her eyes at me and nodded towards the approaching waiter. “Okay. Whatever. Our food is here.”
“Good,” I said. “Great.” And I threw down on that Speedy Gonzales like the good little single Mexican gal I am.
What I use Facebook for, people who get upset with other peoples’ posts, and your reasons for being on social media
Recently, a friend of mine was “scolded” by her morally upright friends and family for some of her “wild” Facebook posts – photos of her drinking and smoking. They warned her that the world would think terribly of her and that she must stick to posting photos of her latest bowl of pho and of the autumn leaves changing. That she was being perceived as a wild slut. Also, I’ve seen a lot of posts from friends lately who are so upset by Facebook that they are going to have to check out for a while. Here’s what I’m thinking about all of this:
I view social media as a form of self-expression – a way for me to be completely open, honest, and transparent. And at the same time, I am able to mold and shape that self-expression in an artistic and thoughtful way that is still honest. My posts are a way to combine reality and art in a public forum. It’s a grand thing really, to be able to do this. Social media is catharsis for me. That’s why I am careful about who I friend – I don’t friend co-workers or family or people I think would not understand the extremes of my personality or self-expression. They will easily misconstrue my posts. The people who respond to my posts negatively or judgementally or argumentatively, I delete them.
I see people, and this happens to me sometimes too, getting frustrated and upset their experience with Facebook or the responses to their posts. Anything you see from me on social media is a true expression of me and where my head is at that moment – or I wouldn’t have posted it. I’ve had phases where I eschewed selfies and I’ve had phases where I posted a lot of selfies. And I am sure there have been some who have been irritated by my “selfie” phase. I post a lot of photos of my dog. (If you are ever irritated by dog photos we weren’t meant to be friends anyway.)
There are a lot of posts of me going to shows and of me out on the town with friends and a lot of posts of me drinking gin and and about sex and men and even sometimes smoking and partying. Of me traveling the world to snorkel, swim, and scuba dive. Because that’s my lifestyle. If I posted something else, it wouldn’t be honest. It wouldn’t be me. My posts aren’t to celebrate self-destruction or self-glorification. Jesus Christ, I ain’t 12 years old. No my posts are part of my free and single lifestyle – the way I am currently choosing to live my life.
My posts reflect what is happening in my life – the good, the bad and the ugly. If I was always knitting and baking cookies or had a baby, well, you’d see endless photos and posts about that. But I don’t do those things. No, I go to shows. I love heavy metal. I drink gin. I swim and dive. I read a lot. I love Russian literature and Japanese and Chinese film. I am in the dating scene right now. I am getting laid now and again. I like to write. I have the sense of humor of a perverted 15-year-old boy sometimes. This is who I am. And my social media activity reflects that and is a lens for those activities and ideologies.
I love my family. And I love my friends. But at the end of the day, it’s my fucking life. And I cannot and will never let anyone dictate what I do or how I do it. In fact, unlike my girl friend, I cannot even fathom what I express about myself on social media being an issue. If one of my family members or friends told me that my posts were too “wild” or “immoral,” well, once I stopped laughing I would tell them to go fuck themselves. Period. Then don’t look at my posts. Delete me. Unfollow me.
I’m going to express myself however the fuck I want to. And the type of people I am friends with, for the most part, are eccentric, creative, wild, free, artistic, have similar interests, etc. and understand what I am doing with social media. Those people do similar things, and many of you fascinate and entertain me on a daily basis. (Also, I need social media to keep track of the shows I want to see and where I want to dive next.) So many of you have similar lifestyles. Or, maybe you have settled down, but HAD a similar lifestyle and you understand what I am expressing. It’s funny, when I go out, most nights, there’s always someone who comes up to me and mentions how much they enjoy the things I share and express on Facebook. And although in no way do I need validation for any fucking thing I do, it makes me feel good that somehow my self-expression meant something to someone else – high brow or low brow. I like knowing that what I put out in the world makes someone else feel good. Or better. And, okay, at the end of the day, social media is a purely self-indulgent, selfish, giving, and sharing exercise for me – and I am fascinated by how words and photos manifest those states of being, of thinking. The process of the ego and the id in the world.
What is social media for if it’s not to be a true expression of who you are? No, no, no – it can never be a full expression. But what is? It’s not possible. I’ve thought long and hard about this. We’re in a new era of sharing and understanding ourselves in relation to one another – now through this bizarre lens that isn’t going away. You may say, but we’re not supposed to KNOW that much about one another.
Social media may evolve or morph, but it’s not going away. If you don’t use it to parse out and create something that is utterly true to who you are, what’s the fucking point? Social media is indeed, in 2019, an extension of ourselves. Deny it all you want. But it is. It’s a new way to connect and communicate with the folks around us and friends far away. People we’ve never met or didn’t know before. In fact, there are people in Raleigh I’ve known through going out for over 10 years and I’ve learned more about them through Facebook than I ever did before and cultivated deeper friendships based on some of the information I found out which piqued my interest.
I use social media to express my psyche – insight for myself and those around me. And the psyche is not a clean, ordered, moral place. It is the opposite of that. And people who claim to constantly live in a clean, ordered and moral place or who care about how perfect their lives look to other people, well, I don’t want or need those people in my life. It’s not honest. It’s not genuine. And I want to live genuinely. The noble and the cowardly. The high brow and the low brow. The cool and the absolute idiocy. The wise decisions and the really stupid, dumbass shit. And everything in between. And I want to express it through this incredible medium – through articulation I come to understand myself and the world around me better. If you construct your life in a way that leaves the worst out, then I’m not being honest. And that is not a life that I am going to live. Ever.