Unlocking the Grid
A couple of years ago, in the early days of my journey as a student investing in guidance and coaching, I was given some advice that my not-self clung to like a life raft.
It was around streamlining the visual aesthetics of my Instagram accounts. At the time, I had three: one for Rust, one for myself, and one that was being crafted for Rhythm & Words.
I was still in my baby stages of absorbing any and all business advice like a sponge, and nodding my head in awe at anyone who gave my questions the time of day. I was eager to learn, and open to hearing from others who had been on the path I now walked (or so I thought). I wanted to know as much as possible so I could set my business and creative ventures up for success.
Which was all well and good in theory, but in reality, I was yet to recognise that there was a bigger theme at play in my life.
The Universe was serving up situations to help strengthen my self belief, and opportunities to look within and trust. But I wasn’t ready to acknowledge the experiences, let alone embody them, so I continued on my merry old way gulping down information and how to’s and podcasts and tips like there was no tomorrow.
I don’t blame past Viv of course. She was doing the best she could with the information she had at the time. Plus, it taught me a very valuable lesson – one that took two years to understand, integrate and move beyond.
But back to the Instagram accounts.
My sweet coach lightly suggested I create a cohesive colour scheme across the three channels, so that they appeared as part of a larger brand. Which made total sense at the time, and looked beautiful (my design diploma comes in handy every once in a while) but it still felt off.
I began censoring myself quite dramatically. Not only was I demanding excellence from the photos and editing, but the captions required depth and vulnerability too.
It didn’t take long for me to start avoiding posting altogether. Occasionally I would feel called to share something, but after consulting my grid it would rarely make the cut. So instead I locked my favourite photos – the ones with bright colours and scenery and devoid of any meaning other than that they brought me joy – were banished to my photos app on my phone. Adored fleetingly, but never shared for others to enjoy.
This went on for months. I continued creating valuable content for my business and podcast platforms, and let my personal profile collect dust in the corner of “not good enough”.
Actually, it went on for a fucking year. I know this because I just scrolled back through last year’s posts (which yes, were few and far between because of You Know Who) and found the exact day I broke my rules. August 30 2020. A photo of my takeaway açai bowl and a cup of tea on my ugly picnic blanket in my overgrown backyard. Titled: Documenting this glorious day.
Seeing that again feels like a triumph. It’s a symbol of the evolution I moved through in 2020, and how I used a year of pain, loss and chaos to come back home to myself. For the first time in my life, I truly tuned in.
I realised that all the aesthetics in the world don’t count for shit unless you love them. Our personal accounts – or any accounts really – shouldn’t feel restrictive and boring. They are OURS. We created them for a reason. And yet we find ourselves tangled in these sticky webs of rules and guides and grids and advice that suck the fun out of it.
How are we meant to connect authentically if our hearts aren’t behind what we share?
And this goes both ways – if you get to a place where you’re that indifferent about what you share and whether or not your art connects, maybe it’s time to step away and reassess what you want out of the platform. Lack of passion means that it’s not serving you anymore, and I bet your audience can tell.
This was just a long-winded way of saying that it takes time for us to figure out what works best for US. We need to move through these “errors” and “mistakes” and “disasters” (otherwise known as lessons) in order to get one step closer to aligning with our true selves. We need to experience the ick in order to truly marvel in the joy.
Perhaps I’m making too big a deal out of this – but after having it plague me for nearly a year, and now looking at my personal grid and seeing pure joy (it actually looks like a collection of things that I love! Who would’ve imagined?!) I can see, quite obviously, how far I’ve come.
Wherever you are right now, I hope you’re letting your creativity express itself fully – on the grid or otherwise.
Love, Viv