I’ve lost my way with Instagram again. My relationship with this app is troubled, it happened in the last year. Before that it was always pure love on my side. Instagram was perfect for me, I loved being there and sharing my thoughts, bits and pieces from my life.
Until I started listening to all those people around about niching, being strategic and growth. All of that doesn’t interest me really, but I’ve let them influence me and the way I was present there. But I’m not an influencer, I never wanted to be one. I’m a writer, a storyteller, boring life expert, enjoyer of the little things.
I want to be all this on Instagram. I want to share the snippets of my daily life, my thoughts, the bits and pieces of life as it is, without added colour. I want to share the life how I live it and how I see it. Through my eyes, simple, slow, most often boring. I want to share what I see, what draws my attention, with all its imperfections.
I want to write a lot, much more than I’m writing now. I want to read more, even though I already read quite a lot. I want the words to fill me and spill out of me. I want to process everything through words. I want to become obsessive with writing everything down, with recording the life.
Writing, telling stories is the only thing that makes my heart beat faster. It’s the only thing that keeps pulling at me. Everything else changes. Some day I want to be doing it, another not any more. But writing is always there, always present, always calling me.
I know I’m a writer, I know this is what I’m supposed to do. And I know that I need to stop keeping myself away from it.
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