Under the Influence.

a personal story of the addiction to social media, how we are influenced, and how returning to nature provides clarity through stillness.

I remember a few summers ago..

When the noise of the city and my cell phone was like a cheese grater to my brain.

The hunger for solace of my own thoughts, the smell of wet earth, fresh pine, and the stillness of not being perceived was becoming unbearable.

I took to the road for a solo camping trip in the Uinta mountains of Utah. About 2 hours east of Salt Lake City.

As I drove down the freeway I contemplated. Where am I? When was the last time I allowed myself to step into silence? When was the last time I bathed myself in the sounds of the earth without filming it. When was the last time I was truly with myself.

This is why had to do this, I had to go to the mountains to rediscover who I am when no one was watching.

I couldn’t feel my soul anymore, too many hours looking into a screen, or looking at other people in my environment looking into a screen—coffee shops, work, parks, you name it, the digital world seemed to become the center of our lives. Our modern life had become a stage for screen life, or the public became an area you could sit next to other people either talking with their friends about their screen life or looking at a screen. The world felt lonelier than ever.

And I too, was one, and still am to a point one of these screen people. At this time I was single and ravenous for human connection. Introverted, deep thinking, and had not yet discovered Substack.

So off I went to the mountains. When I arrived at my campsite, I decided to set up the hammock, and sleep in my Subaru instead of set up the tent. I had driven very far out and there were no signs of any other people. I did not want to hear another persons thoughts but my own. However, I was not the most daring solo-camper, with no dogs or partner, being that isolated, put me a bit on edge. I usually camped at least next to someone else in ear shot.

The aired wind blew eerily through the dispersed pine trees. As I lay in my hammock I felt restless. My mind on a racetrack, I troubled to still myself and find peace in my body, a huge pit of anxiety filled my stomach.

I took a moment to write some poetry and suddenly the numbing static of my mind began to thaw as tears rolled down my cheeks. Here I am.

Following my own stream of consciousness, no pause, just free flow.

My tears washed my eyes and I began to feel clear again.

Soon after, I dressed up cute and snapped some photos of myself in what I thought might be close to my style? I couldn’t tell anymore. But the clothes were all thrifted and I was feeling like myself.

A few hours later I grabbed my hiking gear, and set off for a solo-sunset hike. As I hiked I watched my mind drift to reflecting on my current conundrum. As the sun cast pink hues on the mountain ridges over the alpine lakes.

I seemed to be in my daily life desperately trying to keep up with the live stream of now completely normalized popcorn and potato chip interactions. Devoid of sustenance, and flooded with dopamine. And even with my algorithm curated to match my interests I was still met with constant adds, click bate, and distractions.

Once a place of refuge, a lovely space to share my art, photos of my experiences in nature, and pair that with my writing. Now became a ravenousness soul sucking attention vampire. Like an abusive relationship, bread crumbing me ever few months with one of my posts getting a lot of attention. Then crickets.

As I mentioned above, I was single at this time, and spending ridiculous amounts of time alone.

Regardless of all the inner work I had done over the years, my abandonment wound was flaring. Outside of my already established friendships, new interactions felt so incredibly fragile, people became flighty, and more and more shallow. And if the interaction felt meaningful thats when it was extra scary, they would be there one day, and gone the next.

Was this the new world I would have to cope with? I understood the need for independance, but I also understood the value of community. If felt like modern life did not allow for this as much anymore.

The reflection from Instagram became my main sense of how “well I was doing” as ridiculous as that sounds. I was starving, and Instagram offered a chance to be fed. Even if it was just potato chips. I constantly felt like I was left high and dry, like opening your refrigerator to check if there is magically food in there when you haven’t done the grocery shopping or cooking.

I was fed up, the place where I could share and express with the world had turned my world inside out. Now my experiences were nothing more than a stage to capture an audience. So I, could then hopefully, receive more potato chips.

Underneath the hunger was a deep seeded need to been seen. As a part of me wants admiration, and paradoxically, always a part of me wants to hide.

The part of me that wants to be seen is a small part of me that felt frequently overlooked.

As a kid I was told to go to my room a lot and to “entertain myself.” My mother and father both investing in art supplies so I could do this. I fell in love with it, I’d create clay sculptures and drawings, wether they were actually good or not didn’t matter, they were the one thing that would get me attention, attunement, and praise. Teachers would frequently praise my writing, installing the belief that I may have a talent there too.

In my early teens before everyone had a cell phone and cameras, before the age of social media, I received praise from peers for my sense of style, my hair styles, or any other form of self expression I would try on and decorate myself with. Coupled with watching MTV and reading Teen Vogue magazine. My obsession with outward aesthetics happened early on. I also desired to immerse myself in beautiful natural environments. Maybe that was programming, or was the fact I am a triple Taurus, or it really is just my soul expression.

As Instagram grew in popularity, I got to combine all of my joy’s onto one platform, where I then would receive praise and attention for all of the above. My drop dead gorgeous mountain, ocean, desert adventures, my REI nature girl vibe, art, and writing.

And I, like many, easily fall into the habit when that app is on my phone of checking my Instagram for the little heart icon to light up to alleviate the forever sense that I am inadequate and my existence futile. That my hours of efforts creating and engaging may have suddenly paid off, may have caught fire, and maybe I could stop being a consumer, and become a content creator.

Quiet insane if you think about it, it’s in a way like winning the lottery. But it could be for anything, your hikes, your humor, your art, your thoughts… someone with money notices you, and just happens to think you’re witty enough, pretty enough, or unique enough to distribute their brand. Then once you collaborate, your own brand, goes viral.

Your asthetic, thoughts, and “vibe” then influences thousands and you can quit your day job. At least that’s the idea.. I think.

For a while there, right as influencer culture was on the rise; I had cracked the code with the right hashtags. I reached, I assume many like minds, and my writing was getting recognition.

As the popularity of reels caught fire, so did the short form content, and I was unable to keep up, as I didn’t feel naturally inspired to snip myself and shrink my voice into a bite size dopamine hit. Therefore I was losing engagement, falling to the bottom of the algorithm and for multiple reasons this slowly corroded me.

I felt a type of exhaustion that burned through my mind, scorching my spine all the way down to the root of my soul. I hated that my memory was going, I hated I was hopelessly addicted to this parasitic slot machine for Mark Zuckerburg. I hated the speed of everything and that all my friends were on their too, I hated the rush in their words.

Simultaneously as I absorbed more of other peoples short form content my attention span burnt to the ground. Holding a real life conversation felt like someone slowing down a record, distorting—and drawing out the sound. It felt so slow, like I couldn’t wait for them to get to the point. There even rush in my words, as my listening skills diminished.

What was happening to us?

As much as I despised this, because I was aware of the need for nourishing meals. I still gave Instagram my energy.

I was aware relationships take work to till the soil, to plant the seeds, to water and wait for them to sprout. Building something lasting is like this. Luckily I have a handful of deep, loving, and longterm friendships I had made in massage school. I believe these people were my oxygen mask during this time. But still with our busy lives, lining up schedules was sparse.

So I looked for connection in the form of fillers, through Instagram, and as I was absorbing all this I was inevitably influenced to try and become an influencer.

But, there has always been that push pull and it is layered.

The part of me that wants to hide is the small child that can’t handle criticism let alone cyber bullying. I had watched many accounts blow up, and with it came the most cruel comments. I remember one gal from my area go viral for her hikes in dresses she would wear in nature. Her comment section was soon full of men scorning her for being single in her thirties. “Go back to the kitchen you disgusting worthless whore.”

I was a bit bubbled and luckily always have a small enough account that I have been a bit shielded from experiencing this kind of behavior myself. Yet, as I read these words just as an observer I felt myself tear up. I was never bullied in school, but when I watched others get bullied it would make me cry for days. For me, hearing people spit poision like that even if I knew it said nothing about me, or the person it was said to, still stung and made my heart viscerally ache. How could people be so cruel?

I have always had a debate with social media if it was truly a good or a bad thing. I have currently concluded the cons of short form content apps like Instagram, Tiktok, and Youtube shorts, out weigh the benefits by far.

Your attention is your most valuable resource. I was sick of feeling anxious, scattered, and not knowing where the fuck my thoughts were being generated from. Was this me? Or was I nothing now but my influences.

What did I even actually like to do? Who was I without this thing? Instagram hit when I was about nineteen years old, I got one right away and forever have had some sort of relationship with my online pocket avatar. I literally can’t conceive being any younger and the level of brain rot this could have on a developing brain.

As I was on my hike contemplating all this, one of my biggest influences was what I was reading. Raising Hell, Living Well by Jessica Elephant’e. She talks about the various influences we inherently collect over our lives. Friends, neighbors, media, etc. I don’t need to make the list. But basically imagine everything around you is a part of you, and leaks into you body, mind, and subconscious. Molding and shifting who you are. It’s impossible to be completely original and uninfluenced. We are all influenced by something.

And, much like a diet, we can choose who we create relationships with and how we spend our time and our most valuable resource which is attention. This starts with stripping everything away and getting really quiet with yourself, going deep into silence and allowing each and every thought and emotion to rise and fall.

So what influences did I want to keep? And what did I want to strip away?

Out here, I could finally hear myself. And I could feel the time I had spent ghosting myself. It’s one thing to feel lonely, it’s a whole other to actually spend time alone.

I felt the peace that had centered me listening to the sound of the rhythm of my feet and the birds chirping, followed by a deafening quiet. I had only seen two other humans on this trail and it had been about an hour in with many stops and pictures.

The light began fading rapidly over the horizon as I realized I would be hiking back in the dark. I had brought my headlamp, and had some pepper spray in my back pack. I should turn around now I thought, as my heart rate began to raise.

Walking swiftly through the night I suddenly felt vulnerable. Shadows playing tricks on my eyes, in the forest. Crunch crunch It was someones.. or something’s footsteps.

Bear, I thought. My heart instantly started pounding as I began to run the dark trail, every second felt like minutes as my panic began to spin out of control.

What if this is it and I am done? The thought chased me all the way back to the car, where I did find safety. Truthfully, black bears are harmless, but regardless, in the night when I am alone, they scare the hell out of me. Not such a badass wilderness babe after all, I thought.

As I arrived back to my campsite, I ate some cold food then when straight to bed, staring out the skyroof of my car. My adrenaline was still pulsing through my veins.

Who’s idea was influencing me to do this anyways? I have had many Solo experiences in the wild, I oddly most of the time feel less threatened out there then in the city.

I believe the anxiety I felt about the bear was more a backlog of feelings I had not felt, hypnotized in the shimmer of distraction. As I lay there awake, eventually, the loneliness arrived, and with it the memory of my deceased father, the core of loss and my abandonment wound.

I had been here with grief many times before, I let it wash over me, as the sound of rain washed over my car. And here I am again, with myself. Nothing but the rain and my own heart and grief to influence me.

I woke up the next morning, still shaky and rot with anxiety. Had I stayed longer I believe more layers would be shed, but this gave me enough clarity of what my body had been really holding, and there was at least a pressure release of the backlog of unfelt feelings and not allowing myself to truly unplug.

When I got down from the mountains I discovered there was a bear sighting in my area, by the way.

One of my biggest influences in recent years to call back my wild self has been Brianna Madia. She is truly a wild woman, following her heart and carving her own path. I deeply admire her. Discovering her first memoir in 2023. “No where for very long” on Audible. After, I felt deeply inspired to write mine, now three years later, I am in the last stages of editing, and the first stages of publishing.

I discovered her social after I read her book.

I have this year, stopped posting on Instagram and only have been engaging with Substack. As I have been reading many books on how to publish a book, all of them have been saying you need a magnificent social media following to even have a chance of a publisher working with you. I have had many questions about the path of this as you can imagine.

Synchronistically a friend I have met on Substack ThePurplePerson invited me to go to Brianna Madia’s book signing this last week. I agreed, and several other friends joined. I was telling my friend Joe the woes of finding a publisher, she then mentioned that months ago she sent me one in a text message. I suppose its not that hard after all?

Brianna was one of the people I watched get bullied as she became an influencer. Fast forward 2.5 years later from this camping trip she now was sitting in front of me talking about this experience and how she had written about it in her new book Homesick Nomad. I was dumbfounded.

After watching her talk on stage and tell her story, my friends and I waited in line to have her sign our copies. We all went up together, then each said our words to her one by one.

I was nervous and starstruck, she had carved me like the desert winds that carve sandstone, she had been a key weaver in my becoming.

In a low voice I told her how she had influenced me to write my memoir, and how I was hearing I had to have a big following to publish and thats not what I wanted, due to the bullying. “Who told you that? fuck no you don’t, your book will reach who it needs to. Preserve yourself” she said.

What a badass, that meant so much to me.

Maybe the answer is just being seen by those you are meant to reach. Let go of the outcome, and surrender to the flow, those connections that are meant to find you will find you, those that are meant to stay will stay.

Influencer or not, social media or not. The purpose here is not how many you influence, but how you embody what you value.

How do you intend to reach people?

Is your message coming from your heart?

Are you taking time as a sensitive being to reconnect to the wildness in yourself?

Are you using platforms to leave yourself or to escape the anxiety you feel?

True connection doesn’t come from dopamine, it comes from care, slowness, passion, and love.

The contrary position here with this is advocating for mindful platform use meaningful connections can be made.

I am so grateful for Substack. For me, those I have connected with on here feel like real life connections with depth, and heart. I even met Lacy on here and discovered she has an insanely similar story to mine. Shout out!. ThePurplePerson!

It’s pretty incredible how many people you can ripple into, reach, and deeply touch, given the correct platform, and timing.

I hope this was a positive influence on you. Thanks for reading.

-Olivia