I don’t want to be that person.
You know the one. The person who quickly becomes obnoxious from all their bragging and goings on about the wonderful, beautiful, spectacularly flawless place in which they live; the place that is better than any of the other places in all the world and extended universe. That person.
It starts with a few pretty pictures on the Instagram feed, which are quickly disseminated to Twitter and Facebook. Comments begin rolling in, like “Wow, beautiful!” or “I’m so jealous!”. These kind words go straight to the head, and soon the pictures are popping up every hour on the hour, accompanied by long, gushing captions detailing the intricacies of this one-of-a-kind oasis.
That’s when the encouraging comments from friends begin to die down. A person can only use so many permutations of the phrase “Golly that’s pretty” before they just give up all together, possibly even going so far as to block the perpetrator from their news feed or push that ever-ominous “unfollow” button.
But does this cut back on the headache-inducing influx of images? Oh no. It makes no difference, except that each and every 500-word caption now includes precisely 73 well-researched hashtags guaranteed to generate the most views, likes, and praise possible.
The number of followers actually known to the “photographer” may dwindle, but this isn’t a problem, as they are now followed by plenty of new #paradise and #blessed enthusiasts more than willing to continue feeding that increasingly inflated noggin.
Ah, the glories of social media. All the disinterest and exasperation of friends without any of that pesky interaction.
I jest. Of course I jest.
But I mention all this as recognition of the fact that I am fast becoming one of those people.
Having recently relocated to beautiful, spectacular, wonderful Victoria, British Columbia, I am absolutely inundated with stunning views and exciting visuals, from the 19th century architecture, to the crashing waves, to the blue herons perched on rock outcroppings.
I could post a new, gorgeous picture every twenty-five minutes, if I was so inclined. At this point, I’m not. I’m still in the mood to keep these amazing vistas all to myself, posting only the occasional snapshot depicting sun glinting off the rippling waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
But I am a bit concerned I might get there; might become that nauseating followee on your page that has posted six dozen pictures of the same. damn. beach in the past week.
I’ll make you this promise, though: If I do find myself becoming that person, I’ll provide a disclaimer offering anyone the chance to abandon ship before the onslaught begins.