Anonymity is the refuge of cowards. That’s what I used to think. I had a blog with my real name on it. I wrote whatever I felt, pressed Publish, and didn’t think too much about it. If someone didn’t like it, that was their problem.
It was great for six months or so. Then I heard from people. Members of my family. Exes. Employers. Nobody threatened me, or fired me, or told me not to talk about such-and-such. But I couldn’t forget about them. The site became less about what-the-fuck than about what-the-hell-are-they-going-to-think. Then it died, because I didn’t want to write a what-the-hell-are-they-going-to-think weblog. I wanted to write a what-the-fuck weblog, and I couldn’t anymore.
So. Been there, done that. And now that I’m thinking about leaving L.A., and applying to grad school while employed by companies that don’t know I’m applying to grad school, and figuring out what to keep in my life and what to jettison, I need some walls to protect myself. I don’t want anyone who can Google me reading my inner thoughts. I’m insecure right now. I’m not at my best. I laugh and smile and then go home and lie down in the shower and cry because I feel like I have no one to talk to. Is it weird to admit that? I don’t know. All I know is it is a time of change, and growth, and hurt and pain and joy and life and anger and laughing and figuring-out and learning and wanting and thinking and saying, Who do I want to be? From this point forward.
While I’m figuring it out, I want a place. To vent, rant, whine, scream, argue, dream, reflect, and put myself out there. To talk about what’s going on in my head. Only in my head — I’ll not talk in-depth about friends, or dates, or employers, or colleagues here. Just me. But I am a writer. This is who I am. I fought so hard to open up that I can’t go back in the bottle.
I am afraid. I am afraid that you will judge me if you already know me, that you will read these words and find someone who is not as cool as she was last year, who is indecisive and neurotic and too sensitive and unrealistic, who reads The New York Times in one window and her horoscope in the next, who goes to an art museum and then to see Team America and loves both, who is learning a programming language and tai chi, who needs to be liked but has a deep need to speak her mind, who seems to change every week, who is a contradiction in terms, who knows exactly who she is but can’t communicate it very well at all.
This is my attempt to communicate. If you want to listen in, feel free.
Are my blogging circumstances different this time around? Sure. Thus the X. Forgive the pseudonym, and let’s get on with it.