After arriving in the 88-degree city that is Phoenix, I spent the afternoon wandering around the hotel property, admiring the oddly placed herb and vegetable garden situated right alongside the outdoor pool, rolling my eyes at the tomato-red vacationers spraying themselves with sunblock in a futile resolve, and ceramic ironing my hair for tonight’s wedding rehearsal dinner. I signaled for my ride to take me to the restaurant, and when I got to the hostess desk, I asked for the Friedman wedding rehearsal party. The hostess only heard the “wedding rehearsal” part of my question, so she led the way to a table deep into the (huge) restaurant, and when we arrived, I recognized… no one. Not Ellis, not her parents… no one. “Here we are!” the hostess said to me. Everyone at the table, who looked like they were all half-way through their dinner, looked up and smiled awkwardly. One empty seat was remaining and beckoned to me. I lowered my voice and said to the hostess, “Is this not the Friedman party?” “Oh, no!” the hostess exclaimed. “This isn’t! I’m so sorry!” The entire table started laughing and one person even offered to let me sit down and join them, but I politely declined and went out with the hostess and waited for my friend’s party to arrive. I was the first to arrive. At least I wasn’t late.
When everyone did finally arrive (late), I greeted the family and friends and spent a good amount of time catching up with my friend’s dad and chatting up her famous grandpa, the one who I always heard about as the very smart heart surgeon, the “pappy” who my friend loved to bits. Her parents were exactly as I remembered — extremely warm, friendly, and eager to hear all about me.
“So, I’m pretty certain that since graduation, you have not worked at all,” my friend’s dad said to me in a matter-of-fact tone. “I follow you on Instagram, and if I know nothing about your life, all I do know is that all you seem to do is eat, cook, travel, eat some more, and travel again. You’re always traveling! When are you not traveling?!”
I laughed. “Well, I do love food and travel.” I explained to him that I actually do work, but my work since graduation has never been sexy enough to warrant my photographing any of it. “Food and travel are so much prettier to take pictures of!” I told him.
This is why Facebook and Instagram can never be true representations of any of our lives. We want to share with others what we love and find the most dear to us. The things that are not attractive or cool or sexy — we withhold those from view.
Who wants to see me creating pivot tables in Excel or writing emails on a Macbook Pro, anyway?