It's Like Running Away With The Wind In My Face, It's Like Flying, And You And I Are Open Wide
--"Running Away", Polyphonic Spree
Marion was stopped the other day at her church service by somebody who reads this blog and recognized her picture. She, like me, has only been used to people she willingly gave out the web address to reading her posts here. It took her rather aback because blogs are a curious thing in that you think you're writing them for yourselves and a select group of people, but anyone and their mom can read them (if it isn't locked, that is). There poor delfty was, thinking she was writing for less than a handful of people and she finds out that not only are certain classmates reading here, but that it's also spread two generations across by now in reaching people she doesn't know directly. She could have reacted differently, but she took it in stride as befitting her newfound confidence. She thanked them for their patronage and went on her way.
Me? The only people I know who read here are people I've suggested read it. I know people from both when I worked at Bally's and people I know from my current job at Eclipse read it. I know people from my boardgaming group also read it. Hell, I know people from almost school I've attended has read our blog at one time or another. Does that alter what I write? I can't say for certain, but I believe I would have to answer no. While I might have intended the audience for this site to be limited, I learned a long time ago that there won't be any controlling of who has access to my thoughts which are posted here. It'd be a losing battle if I tried to fight that fight. As of now, I just write like I write my letters, picturing as if I'm chatting with one of my friends or telling an anecdote to someone I may have just bumped into at a party or something. One strength I've always had is that I'm able to write about personal ideas and events without a sense of propriety. I attempt to write everything as I remember it or as I think of it, without editing and without hesitation.
Yes, it bothers me a little bit that there are certain groups of people who are reading this that have frankly no good reason for reading it. Certain people I know who I know I've grown out of touch with and who have made it clear they want nothing to with me still read this blog. That doesn't make any sense to me. And, yes, it makes me a bit nervous that my full name is associated with this site, meaning that my vendors from Eclipse can, if they want, find out some fully embarrassing tidbits about me. What they would do with this information is beyond me, but it is out there to color their assessment of my capability to do my job. That bothers me some. And, yes, ever since my parents upgraded to their laptop I'm sort of curious to see when they'll finally stumble across my blog. I'm anticipating a call from my mom that will be long and in-depth about what certain facts about me that I may have hid from them. That's not going to be a fun call, explaining each and every indiscretion and questionable choice I've made in the last thirty years.
That doesn't mean I'm thinking about taming anything down here and I'm encouraging the other SFoM members to do the same.
The way I see it is that, first and foremost, this is a place where I can relay what I'm thinking and what I'm remembering so that there is some kind of record of what I was going through at any given moment of my life. I'm basically telling stories to myself before I forget that they were once important to me. Also, it's a place to get certain skeletons in my closet out into the open before they stink up my psyche. I have a problem deciphering what I'm supposed to feel about certain poor choices I've made until ten or fifteen years have passed. I tend to hold reflecting on what a mess my life has sometimes become until an acceptable amount of time has transpired. That's usually when I come to write it here, so, again, there's some kind of record of the lessons I've gleaned.
To stifle that simply because I'm worried what other people might think would be disservice to this whole exercise. I'm pretty sure Breanne and Toby would say the same. What's the point of writing down your feelings and telling your secrets if you're only going to be embarrassed by them later on? If you feel that way, then you might as well keep them inside until they fester. Part of the process of unburdening yourself is the restraint to not care who later rifles through those burdens. It's like throwing away trash; you've just got to let certain things go into the world lest you hold onto too tightly.
That's why if a similar situation were to happen to me where a friend of a friend or long-distance acquaintance were to disclose to me they've been reading about me, I'll try not to take it personally as well. I've opened that Pandora's Box a long time ago. I've let my stories and Lucy's stories and Marion's stories remain up here for over five years now. During that time over 100,000 people have shuffled through them. I'm sure of those 100,000 people quite a few them could recognize the name of Patrick Taroc before they even came here. I'll just try to thank the person for reading my stuff and try not to dwell on which potentially unsympathetic story they may have glanced through.
After all, this is a place for my words to be read. I can't back down now because I may take umbridge with the quality of those selfsame readers. I either let everyone read it or let no one read it.
Right now I'd much rather have the problem of too many readers than too little.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Marion was stopped the other day at her church service by somebody who reads this blog and recognized her picture. She, like me, has only been used to people she willingly gave out the web address to reading her posts here. It took her rather aback because blogs are a curious thing in that you think you're writing them for yourselves and a select group of people, but anyone and their mom can read them (if it isn't locked, that is). There poor delfty was, thinking she was writing for less than a handful of people and she finds out that not only are certain classmates reading here, but that it's also spread two generations across by now in reaching people she doesn't know directly. She could have reacted differently, but she took it in stride as befitting her newfound confidence. She thanked them for their patronage and went on her way.Me? The only people I know who read here are people I've suggested read it. I know people from both when I worked at Bally's and people I know from my current job at Eclipse read it. I know people from my boardgaming group also read it. Hell, I know people from almost school I've attended has read our blog at one time or another. Does that alter what I write? I can't say for certain, but I believe I would have to answer no. While I might have intended the audience for this site to be limited, I learned a long time ago that there won't be any controlling of who has access to my thoughts which are posted here. It'd be a losing battle if I tried to fight that fight. As of now, I just write like I write my letters, picturing as if I'm chatting with one of my friends or telling an anecdote to someone I may have just bumped into at a party or something. One strength I've always had is that I'm able to write about personal ideas and events without a sense of propriety. I attempt to write everything as I remember it or as I think of it, without editing and without hesitation.
Yes, it bothers me a little bit that there are certain groups of people who are reading this that have frankly no good reason for reading it. Certain people I know who I know I've grown out of touch with and who have made it clear they want nothing to with me still read this blog. That doesn't make any sense to me. And, yes, it makes me a bit nervous that my full name is associated with this site, meaning that my vendors from Eclipse can, if they want, find out some fully embarrassing tidbits about me. What they would do with this information is beyond me, but it is out there to color their assessment of my capability to do my job. That bothers me some. And, yes, ever since my parents upgraded to their laptop I'm sort of curious to see when they'll finally stumble across my blog. I'm anticipating a call from my mom that will be long and in-depth about what certain facts about me that I may have hid from them. That's not going to be a fun call, explaining each and every indiscretion and questionable choice I've made in the last thirty years.
That doesn't mean I'm thinking about taming anything down here and I'm encouraging the other SFoM members to do the same.
The way I see it is that, first and foremost, this is a place where I can relay what I'm thinking and what I'm remembering so that there is some kind of record of what I was going through at any given moment of my life. I'm basically telling stories to myself before I forget that they were once important to me. Also, it's a place to get certain skeletons in my closet out into the open before they stink up my psyche. I have a problem deciphering what I'm supposed to feel about certain poor choices I've made until ten or fifteen years have passed. I tend to hold reflecting on what a mess my life has sometimes become until an acceptable amount of time has transpired. That's usually when I come to write it here, so, again, there's some kind of record of the lessons I've gleaned.
To stifle that simply because I'm worried what other people might think would be disservice to this whole exercise. I'm pretty sure Breanne and Toby would say the same. What's the point of writing down your feelings and telling your secrets if you're only going to be embarrassed by them later on? If you feel that way, then you might as well keep them inside until they fester. Part of the process of unburdening yourself is the restraint to not care who later rifles through those burdens. It's like throwing away trash; you've just got to let certain things go into the world lest you hold onto too tightly.
That's why if a similar situation were to happen to me where a friend of a friend or long-distance acquaintance were to disclose to me they've been reading about me, I'll try not to take it personally as well. I've opened that Pandora's Box a long time ago. I've let my stories and Lucy's stories and Marion's stories remain up here for over five years now. During that time over 100,000 people have shuffled through them. I'm sure of those 100,000 people quite a few them could recognize the name of Patrick Taroc before they even came here. I'll just try to thank the person for reading my stuff and try not to dwell on which potentially unsympathetic story they may have glanced through.
After all, this is a place for my words to be read. I can't back down now because I may take umbridge with the quality of those selfsame readers. I either let everyone read it or let no one read it.
Right now I'd much rather have the problem of too many readers than too little.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: disclosure, identity, Polyphonic Spree, secrecy, writing
posted by mojo shivers @ 2:44 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home