Romanticizing Your Life vs. Actually Living It

Written by Jessica Newson

Published June 28, 2025

How social media sold me a fantasy... and how I'm learning to find meaning outside the highlight reel.

There was a time when I believed life was supposed to look like a curated Instagram feed: toned bodies in perfect lighting, nonstop adventures, and the kind of friends who effortlessly fell into laughter across a picnic blanket. And sometimes, it did look like that. But the thing no one warns you about is that even when life looks good, it can still feel empty.

In my early 20s, I became obsessed with the idea of “romanticizing my life.” It felt empowering at first—like reclaiming joy in the mundane. I lit candles while cleaning, played French café music while making eggs, edited clips of beach days into dreamy montages. But somewhere along the way, the performance started to outpace the presence. I found myself doing things for the content, not for myself.

A sunset stopped being a sunset, it was a chance to get the perfect Instagram story. A road trip wasn’t about the freedom, it was about getting enough footage to make it look spontaneous and beautiful. I became an art director for a life I wasn’t fully living.

And the truth is, behind every aesthetic moment was the part I didn’t post. The panic spiral about money. The loneliness after moving to a new city. The arguments with people I loved, the existential fear of wasting my twenties, the constant buzzing anxiety that maybe I wasn’t doing enough or being enough.

That’s the thing about trying to turn your life into a movie. Eventually, you realize you’re not watching it, you’re working on it. You’re behind the scenes, adjusting the lighting, spending hours rearranging your Instagram slide to look cool and effortless. You're crafting a narrative, not experiencing one.

Lately, I’ve been unlearning all that. I’m practicing being where I am, without needing it to be beautiful or inspiring or worth sharing. I’m sitting with discomfort instead of editing it out. I’m letting myself be bored, be off-screen, be present.

I still take pictures. I still love pretty things. But I’m no longer building a life for an invisible audience. I’m trying to build one for myself.

Because the most meaningful moments I’ve had recently weren’t photo-worthy. They were quiet, messy, and unremarkable. Laughing so hard I cried while sitting on the floor eating takeout. Crying on a friend’s couch because I finally said what I’d been holding in for months. Waking up early and watching the sun rise just because it felt good—not because anyone would see it.

Romanticizing your life can be a beautiful tool. But if you’re not careful, it can also become a trap. What I’m learning now is this: the real romance is presence. The real aesthetic is authenticity. And the best scenes often happen when the camera’s off.