There are so many people out there with honest, long-standing, readable, enjoyable, well-written, soul-baring, no-holds-barred, tell-their-keyboard-way-more-than-they-ever-tell-anyone-in-real-life, very good blogs. I am not one of them. When I read over my old entries, I don't think anyone who didn't already know me would get any sense of who I am, or have any reason to care.
It boils down to the fact that I don't care for sharing too much of myself. I used to think I was an open book, but I'm starting to think I'm an open book on page 3. People often describe me as opinionated, which sometimes stings because it's my mother's favorite barb against my grandmother, whom I think she secretly loathes. And I do have a lot of opinions, but they're not about Me Knowing Everything or This Is How You Should Run Your Life, they're just... what I think about stuff. They're not really Me.
I'm a firstborn and I've always been responsible, independent, self-sufficient and ambitious, and I'm hardwired to do the right thing even when it's uncomfortable. My sister is the opposite... she's self-serving, lets others do for her, actively avoids obligations (to the point of rudeness), and doesn't give a flying crap. But we both guard our privacy in different ways. She bends for no one and doesn't apologize, and I construct a tight, comfortable world with just the people and things I want in it, and let the rest fall away. The people in my world, for the most part, are people with whom I felt a strong and immediate bond. I don't enjoy having surface-level people in my life and waiting around until we warm up to one another. I shy away from large groups. I avoid chatting with my neighbors or having unnecessary conversations at work. Small talk makes me want to run away screaming. I don't assume that everyone I've met wants to hear from me. I wouldn't dream of dropping in on someone unexpectedly.
So, even here, even though I could say anything, I don't, for whatever reason. I tell irrelevant stories and vignettes that I never think about again. Or I complete surveys where I'm not so much revealing myself as just answering questions. A lot of things that happen don't merit mention. Or they're too complicated and important to talk about in this forum. Or they involve people from my life, who, even if they don't read this, I'm not about to speak ill of in print. I feel a lot of different ways about a lot of different things, and I talk issues to death with my friends, and I think plenty of petty, sucky, crapola thoughts that don't need to be documented.
Where is this going? Well, I might try to open up more. Or I might not. But I never really thought of myself as a private person before, and I'm realizing that I totally am, and it's kind of interesting. If I had a private diary, that's where this would go. But I don't, and so there it is.
It boils down to the fact that I don't care for sharing too much of myself. I used to think I was an open book, but I'm starting to think I'm an open book on page 3. People often describe me as opinionated, which sometimes stings because it's my mother's favorite barb against my grandmother, whom I think she secretly loathes. And I do have a lot of opinions, but they're not about Me Knowing Everything or This Is How You Should Run Your Life, they're just... what I think about stuff. They're not really Me.
I'm a firstborn and I've always been responsible, independent, self-sufficient and ambitious, and I'm hardwired to do the right thing even when it's uncomfortable. My sister is the opposite... she's self-serving, lets others do for her, actively avoids obligations (to the point of rudeness), and doesn't give a flying crap. But we both guard our privacy in different ways. She bends for no one and doesn't apologize, and I construct a tight, comfortable world with just the people and things I want in it, and let the rest fall away. The people in my world, for the most part, are people with whom I felt a strong and immediate bond. I don't enjoy having surface-level people in my life and waiting around until we warm up to one another. I shy away from large groups. I avoid chatting with my neighbors or having unnecessary conversations at work. Small talk makes me want to run away screaming. I don't assume that everyone I've met wants to hear from me. I wouldn't dream of dropping in on someone unexpectedly.
So, even here, even though I could say anything, I don't, for whatever reason. I tell irrelevant stories and vignettes that I never think about again. Or I complete surveys where I'm not so much revealing myself as just answering questions. A lot of things that happen don't merit mention. Or they're too complicated and important to talk about in this forum. Or they involve people from my life, who, even if they don't read this, I'm not about to speak ill of in print. I feel a lot of different ways about a lot of different things, and I talk issues to death with my friends, and I think plenty of petty, sucky, crapola thoughts that don't need to be documented.
Where is this going? Well, I might try to open up more. Or I might not. But I never really thought of myself as a private person before, and I'm realizing that I totally am, and it's kind of interesting. If I had a private diary, that's where this would go. But I don't, and so there it is.
1 Comments:
You just made me want to write something similar at the Cupcake. Also, I saw the free Gin Blossoms and Whoever Else was Popular in 1994 concert last year on City Hall Plaza or wherever it was (clearly it made a lasting impression on me) and it made me feel like I should be home studying for the SATs.
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