Summer diary ‘26.

I recently saw a video of a woman on vacation making a parody of her total inability to enjoy herself. She would show a picture of herself reading at the beach and say, “This is fun. I am resting. I love reading. I’m relaxing, I’m relaxing, I’m relaxing.”

The tyranny of expectations enforced by machine-like inner voices commanding fun, and the dissonant knot between the diaphragm and the belly button blocking its natural flow.

I connected so much to this 30-second tiktok because I often find myself resenting the picture that I want to take on vacation. The picture as a proxy for fun. The picture as a mediator between fun and me.

I tell myself that I am a visual person. That the camera mirrors and amplifies the beauty my eyes see. That why not live in retrospect?

But sitting on the beach, I realize that I don’t resent the picture as much as I resent wanting it. The loss of my childlike ability to have unmediated fun, to have fun without being watched. To feel it in my body. To go into the water and be one with the water.

I don’t think I can do that anymore, so I try to replace it with a picture.

But the ability to embody the joy, like a child, is gone.

And the picture is just a coping mechanism. It’s how I deal with it.

It is the symptom.

Immediately my mind goes into remedy mode. It prescribes an instagram break. A quiet departure. Resisting being watched. It will optimize my happiness. I will recover. I will be a child again.

I put on my daughter’s goggles and go after the feeling. I’m determined. I hold my breath. I jump in the water. I suspend life for 15-30 seconds to immerse myself in the temporary where I live but my phone cannot.

Otra bocanada.

I become one with the current. In the depths, it occurs to me that taking a picture is the equivalent of seeing myself seeing.

And writing is seeing myself thinking.

~ LdvK.