Are You There, Reader? It's Me, Mav.

A Gallery of "Here" in Verse & Photos

Instead of romanticizing hustle culture or glamorizing highlight reels, can we normalize Here culture?

The everyday ordinary and “this totally boring thing happened today” culture?
The “I made my bed, got dressed, and then sat for 8 hours at a desk” culture?

It may not look like much but with my perspective, it really was. It always is. Because here’s the thing: these moments are still worthy of sharing.

I want to see the truth. Who are you beyond a screen? Without a stitch of makeup? When you’re not performing? Do you still feel beautiful when no one’s watching? What are you battling internally? Can I hear your story? I have a masters in listening.

Honestly, I bet I’m dealing with similar things! Tell me a funny story. Set the scene like we’re old friends grabbing coffee. What’s the tea? I just mean, where ya been? Where ya going? I want to see the stuff you’re afraid of posting.

I miss connection. I miss the in-the-moment photos instead of obsessing over aesthetics. Can I see you elbows-deep in dishes? Feeding your dog? Taking out your trash? Getting dressed in the morning and hauling ass (late) to work like the rest of us? Can we be Beauty & the Beast this bitch and make love a thing to believe in again? Can we magic-mirror each other? Can I see you all sweaty tomato-faced post-run mid-summer AND your Beyonce-level glamor & technicolor? Because it’s ok to be both, and ya know, we don’t get told that enough.

Me personally, I miss the random feed, the relatability. Can we return to the days when Instagram was a junk drawer of posts? When we were snapping grainy photos of what we ate for lunch, the random bug we spotted on our walk, our outfit selfies taken from up above?

Can I see the slush pile equivalent of your camera roll? Your thumb didn’t ruin the shot; it made it real. Am I the only one who feels like this? Who misses the rawness of existence?

The behavior modification, the branding, the content regurgitation, it’s eroding our mental health. I want to see your LIFE beyond what you’re trying to sell.

The targeted ads and sales pitches are wildly unnecessary. For me anyway, because listen—you don’t have to convince me to buy your anything. In fact, you won’t. I don’t want it shoved down my throat. Post + ghost and then let me decide. We don’t need promos peppered in a post twenty thousand times. When did documenting life become a marketplace with a flashing “DESPERATE FOR SALES” sign?

Can I see you your shoes instead? Your cats? How you and your partner hold hands in the car? Your absolutely weirdest art you’re terrified to show? I’m eager to know the real you.

Show me anything that lights you up inside. I’m watching, listening. Let’s pass notes back and forth like we did in 9^th grade English class. I want to feel like I’m signing your yearbook when I comment, not lighting myself on fire by comparing incomparable content. Why do we even do this? Apples to oranges when some of us are peaches. Or furniture. Balloons, bears, sneakers.

Not everything is curated and designed. I write. I host a podcast. And in between, I live my life. It’s imperfect. Messy. Weird. Often it’s really boring.

But I think that’s what makes it beautiful, simply because it’s mine.

I’m a Dr. Seuss of sorts. I share long-form words a lot in verse. It’s often unintentional of course, and at this point, it’s just how my neurodivergent brain works.

I post inconsistently, but I’ll show you every side. The raw, the real (rarely a reel), the aesthetically arranged charcuterie and the ugh-why-me-emotional-whine.

So here’s my contribution to the internet today:

This is me.

It’s cool if you wanna go, but I’d love it if you stayed.

Tell me in the comments: are you here with me today? (If you are, drop your Instagram handle so we can connect!)

With love & hope always,