Today I want to dive into something I am experiencing in real time. Earlier this year I decided to start this new Instagram account dedicated to my writing. Maybe I would share a personal photo here and there, but mostly the focus would be my work. If you are new here, you probably have not seen the many, and I mean many, selfies I once took. Up until recently I had another public Instagram account with many more followers. There I shared so much of myself and endless selfies: me in the kitchen, me in teeny exercise outfits, me in bikinis, me, me, me.

Then a few months ago, I decided to take my account private and I ended up with just over 200 followers. I stopped posting regularly. Then something strange happened. I started to feel silly about sharing a selfie. I knew then that something had shifted. I knew then that I was retracting. Or was I redirecting myself? I didn’t give it too much thought at the time. I tend to follow my gut and do what feels right.

A few weeks ago, I thought I would delete that account. But this week, when I looked through my posts, I decided against it. I didn’t want to erase the echo of who I was at that moment. Just because those posts exist does not mean I am bound to them any longer. They are records, not chains. Still, I didn’t want anyone to have access to them, so instead of deleting the account I removed every single follower and shared some of the photos here in a collaboration between both accounts.

You may say, yes but you’ve posted nude photos here, isn’t that oversharing? And to that I say no. The photos I post alongside my erotic writings are part of my artistic expression. They are meant to complement the writing, to enhance the senses.

This morning Lucio and I were discussing starlight as travel. Specifically, he wrote, “Every time you look at the stars, you’re seeing into the past—some of that light has been traveling thousands or millions of years to meet your eyes tonight. A reminder that even something as casual as looking up is an act of touching history.”

That got me thinking about our own human story, how we too have been traveling thousands of years to arrive where we are today, and how we show no signs of stopping. But I’ve also been reflecting on my own travels, my own journey, and my decision-making in particular. How something that once brought me pleasure and excitement (taking selfies) can now cause a stir of cringe. How I went from oversharing to barely sharing.

There are many avenues to explore here, but I’ll leave you with this. It’s curious to think of those who see only a glimpse of you and then move on. They will never know the distance you’ve traveled to arrive at that exact moment, or the distance you still have to travel to become something else entirely.

And it is a beautiful thing to have loved ones who have witnessed and supported you through all the phases of your life, and to know they will be there for whatever comes next. Those who understand that your starlight is still traveling, and will remain until your light extinguishes.

afterthoughts:

We are starlight, never definite, always moving. We are echoes of who we were and glimmers of who we will be.

Perhaps then I was expressing myself visually, and that part of me has been exhausted. Now I find myself expressing through words.