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Wow, I can’t believe I’ve finally made it here. I’ve reached the Everest of millennial existence. What have I accomplished? As of Monday at 12:00 PM CST, I reached 100 likes on Instagram. Some people say it’s about the journey and not the destination. Well, those people are idiots. This is 100% about the destination, and damn, does it feel good.
What a long, hard journey it’s been to reach this feeling of complete self-worth. I’ve been through all the ups and downs of the Instagram life. I’ve been through the dark ages of eight likes when I was brand new to the game, posting pics of some shitty five-dollar steak with a pack of those cheap microwaveable steamed veggies like some Instagram pariah.
My day would come, and even in those dark ages, deep down I knew it was only a matter of time until I reached Instagram immortality. I was like a caterpillar, waiting to build his cocoon and burst into a beautiful butterfly that gets hella likes on his Instagram.
Multiple times throughout this journey, I had given up on my quest to break 100 likes. I had even tweeted this photo out a week before, and forgotten to Instagram it. My mind was so far out of the game at that point I wasn’t even thinking about it. My confidence was shot.
To get a little more introspective, perhaps I was thinking about it. Subconsciously, I knew Instagram was there, but I was so beaten and bruised from former attempts that I was too scared to step back into that world of rejection. I had been hurt before, and I didn’t know if I was ready to put myself back out there again.
Then, laying in bed Sunday night with a serious hangover and a case of the Sunday Scaries, I decided it was time to chuck up a Hail Mary. If there was ever a pic that was going to get over 100 likes, it was this one. I knew Sunday night was primetime for likes, and it was now or never. Then I put it out there on the ‘gram and hoped for the best.
Even this photo had its ups and downs. As I did my typical Monday routine of getting settled in the cube, I decided to check my Instagram. I was sitting at 84 as of 8:30 a.m. I thought that was ballgame. That being so close to achieving my dream but inevitably falling short was the cherry on top of the punch-in-the-gut sundae that is Monday in the postgrad world. Ruthless stuff from Satan himself to start the work week.
As the day wore on, the final likes came pouring in. After many ups and downs over the past sixteen hours, I had reached the goal I had been working towards since 2013. All my hard work had paid off and I was in a state of pure millennial trash euphoria. It is by far my most glorious moment of existence.
Typically, this is the point where I would start talking about how many people I have to thank and blah blah blah. I’m not going to do that because there are really only two people to thank here. I need to thank the attractive camera lady for catching me in my most pure form of ripping up a dance floor after copious amounts of free alcohol.
Last but not least, I need to thank myself.
I have to thank me for looking dope as hell in this pic. I have to thank me for knowing through the thick fog of multiple Jack Daniels, there was a moment of greatness to be seized, and seize it I did.
I caught that beautiful camera lady out of the corner of my eye and gave her a look that could have subdued Cleopatra herself. Boom…photography magic.
It wasn’t easy, but for one of the first times in my life, when the game was on the line, I ripped a home run.
Doubting the greatness of this pic? Well, feast your eyes on it.
Like I said, I look dope as hell.
Only time will tell how my new found success changes me. Will I start big-timing the people I currently surround myself with and ditch them for a cooler crowd? More than likely. I haven’t chased this fame for so long not to completely abuse the perks of this exclusive club I’ve joined.
Remember, anything is possible if you don’t give up. Dream big, kids..