I saw a reel not so long ago of a woman who said that if you want people to notice your posts less, not paying attention to them, you should post more and not less. Let’s say it’s one of the only ways your coworkers (hey, shout-out to y’all), ex-friends and lovers can keep a connection to you. Receive a glimpse, a memory, some gossip. Depending on their intention. The oversaturation will get them sick of you at some point.

Or maybe they just really don’t care at all. And they’re all just made-up stories in that paranoid tiny little head of yours, but alas I’m still human and I wonder.
I think I’m starting to accept that neither of those thoughts should matter to me. I’d rather set them free.

If you grew up in the 2000’s✨, you will hopefully – just like me – feel a colourful fog envelope you when reminiscing about the icons of the times.
It’s 2007. I’m sitting in a room that smells like a mix of thàt pink apple perfume (which every annoying teen my age had) and Angel by Thierry Mugler. “Prononciation”: Mug-lèr.

A beautiful prop I only used on special occasions, but was mostly held for Totally Spies impersonations. If you don’t know what the ?!*/? I’m talking about, I warmly invite you to look it up and let your inner child color in the rest. The rest of the room is filled with rock posters, a pile of messy clothes and makeup on the floor.

I turn on my classic Windows XP desktop on, which is a three to four step ritual depending on its willingness and receptivity that day. Or moisture levels, or the position of the stars.
The sound of the internal ventilators fills the room, and I swear if it doesn’t sound like what I imagine a cowboy hears on his horse roaming the Wild West. Like a big gust of wind. I guess I did my make-up for what, the Internet?

Somewhere between then and now, something about that feeling changed.
I began to mistrust the Internet. Or maybe the Internet wasn’t the problem at all, but the fact that I didn’t want to be seen…

In no favorite order:

• Open up MSN to update your status to reflect your cringy teenage inner self. Don’t care about it. Done.
• Take a picture, write some poetry, make a website, express yourself in any other way. Post. Don’t even think about it. Done.
• Discover new music genres, albums and artists. May the creators of LimeWire forever be blessed with a belly full of food and beautiful babies. Dance. Like nobody’s watching. Done.

Years have passed but suddenly there she is again. That inner adolescent. I missed her.
She’s rebellious, just does not care about others’ opinions of her, she’s grungey, in a sense pure female rage¹
It expresses itself, without a filter. She shows me how energetically anger still trumps shame.

I mean, it’s no Enlightenment but I think I’m humble enough to accept there may still be lots of steps to undertake before being considered following in the footsteps of the Great Enlightened such as the Buddha, Jesus and the likings.
Or am I? I will humbly pick up my socks and do my laundry for now.

Something to consider further another time.

Dance

These past few years I rediscovered my love for dancing and music. Dancing alone at home in the dark, the festivals, the parties, my friends, my dance partners… All of it helped me heal an important aspect of myself. ¹

Meditation can truly take on many forms.
Dancing lets me reconnect spirit to my body. This year I’ll promise to stop beating myself up for not having a rigid yoga/meditation schedule, that will allow me tO HEAL OR RELAX FASTER. FASTER.
 Starting to see the irony?

*/BZZZRRR/*

/Narrator/: There goes our buzzer sound, ladies and gentlemen. Sad to announce the time is almost running out on our show here. I understand that it feels nice to channel the silliness but we’re going to have to limit the serious topics here. People may not understand the comedic effect and assume you are ready to discuss any of that with complete strangers. Wait for that book-deal first.

There was a point to my story beforehand, I promise.
I realized this week that as a teenager, (next to breaking stuff and screaming) I also truly enjoyed expressing myself regardless of any exterior judgement.

Somewhere along the way, I must have internalised that ‘mature’ fear of being judged.

Oh but come on, Cas, you already understand that you can’t control any other thoughts than your own. You understand that letting other people’s opinions control your behaviour and future actions, takes away your power and agency. You even knòw how good it feels to step into those short elevated moments of authentic manifestation.
It seems we’ve arrived at blatant cliché of a conclusion at this point.

What is it that I fear then? Big Brother? ^{_{I think that’s too late kiddo}}.

Let’s say I’m not afraid of being negatively judged by people anymore Then what?
Is it running the risk of àctually being seen? If I authentically be myself, do I also run the risk of actually being understood?

But that may be the whole point of expressing oneself honestly, no? ²

To remove that mask is to be open to truly connect.

/

1. I will note contain pure female rage with a point. Stylistic choice. ↩︎
2. But especially in these times, with a world full of conflict and general unease in people’s hearts and mind, I see of course that I’m speaking out of a position of incredible privilege to even be able to experience this part of life. ↩︎
3. I wanted to lastly thank whoever chose to read through this… I don’t know what to call it yet. Like a mix of an essay and some stream-of-consciousness? A structured journal. I especially hope my ADHD-brained friends could follow my ramblings best.😘 ↩︎