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Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
There’s been a lot of talk about how social media is bad for you. It can lead to low self-esteem and body image. It cannot replace in-person interactions. It can cause anxiety and general meanness. I’ve been exposed to all that. But a year ago, I opened a new Instagram account, named rxtraveler. The results have all been positive.
Instagram seemed like a better match than other platforms. It’s photo-centric and I have 12,000 photos on my phone, tens of thousands more downloaded to my computer. I rarely print photographs any more so why not have a place to share them?
Still, I had some wariness about a visual network. Scrolling past posts portraying perfect lives and bodies might be triggering. I would not follow body flaunters, but I worried their posts would pop up in ads and as accounts “Suggested for you.”
I set clear parameters on how to interact with Instagram. I committed to one post per day everyday, never wavering. My photo selection process takes less than a minute, though my written blurb under the image might take anywhere from five to 40 minutes. I do this first thing each morning, before showering, before making coffee. The blurb serves as my warmup exercise each day, calisthenics for the writing component in my brain.
More importantly, the writing puts the shine of a good shot into perspective. I write honestly and openly about my mental-health challenges. This is tantamount to public journalling, a release of pressure within me but also an offering of connection. By outing my mental-health struggles, I hope to reduce stigma.
To make it an interactive platform, I follow 10 people per day. After a year, I have more than 2,500 followers and I do my best to like their posts as much as they like mine. It’s not just a matter of courtesy, I’m following people with wonderful galleries.
In my first six months, I exercised caution in choosing people to follow. My IG profile includes a rainbow flag to identify myself as queer. I worried people might throw me some hate. I steered clear of bearded dudes in red states. Sorry, Alabama, I prejudged you.
As I gained confidence in my photos, in my writing, I decided to follow anyone with a good eye. Let them choose to follow or not. Maybe my profile could reduce homophobia as well as destigmatize mental health. Maybe I, in turn, would not feel as threatened by stereotypes. Perhaps we could learn to understand and accept one another based on a simple uniting force: a nice photo. And another.
The feedback has been 100 per cent wonderful. Positivity breeds the same and, even on days when I felt down, I could always “like” eye-catching photography. Sometimes I’d leave a complimentary comment as well. There are always shots that make me gasp — a compelling subject, an unusual angle, a photo crossing from hobby to art.
Oh, to be inspired while feeling depressed! A year earlier, I’d have said that wasn’t possible.
Some people I follow come up on my social feed more often. I’ve consciously followed others with mental-health challenges and those who celebrate hiking as a means of connecting with nature. Their posts remind me I am not alone in struggle or celebration. There’s a proud young mother struggling with depression who posts often eerie art, a gay man on the East Coast who tirelessly removes garbage from local landscapes and a British Columbia potter I hope to support at a farmers’ market. I worried when a man in England didn’t post for six weeks after heart surgery. Another follower inspires me with peaceful videos of the Oregon Coast.
Vancouver photographers remind me of places I should revisit. Indeed, I find myself getting outside more. “Get a photo,” I tell myself. The desire for a good shot extends my walks beyond what I’d planned.
One post inspired a road trip. The image of a ruddy canyon had me thinking of Utah or Arizona, but when I read the tag, it said Smith Rock State Park, Oregon. A quick search indicated it was in central Oregon’s High Desert, close to Bend. I booked two nights in the town, allowing a full day to explore park trails. In my blurb that went with the photo, I noted that someone on Instagram, I didn’t recall who, inspired me to make the trip. Later, they identified themselves in a comment: “I remember you commenting on my post last fall. Glad you made it!”
Through Instagram, I’ve had a window to the world. I’ll never be able to afford the time and money to experience it all in person, but the platform offers something more personal than browsing online images and National Geographic. I visit the desert, the ocean, a mountain and the inner chamber of a temple within 60 seconds. I see tilted river views from someone’s unsteady hands. I catch a window seat shot from the clouds somewhere above, well, somewhere. I recognize places I’ve never been. I am reminded that the beauty of my province is not unparalleled.
A few times each day, I am outside myself. Inspired and, yes, humbled.
Gregory Walters lives in Vancouver.
