(no subject)
Last week I read an article entitled "Exposed" and (I'm paraphrasing.) subtitled "What I gained--and lost--by writing online about my life." To summarize, the writer (who used to work for Gawker Media, infamous for Gawker Stalker) shared and overshared on her two blogs, writing about her then-boyfriend, other lovers, her job, her family, her best friend, and so on. (Gawker, by the way, is a dopey website dedicated to gossip about celebrities and socialites. On Larry King Live, the author of the article praised Gawker for encouraging "citizen journalism." Anyone can submit a "celebrity sighting" to the site; the tips are almost always published and almost never verified.) Her boyfriend was displeased when she revealed that he had called Project Runway "Project Gayway." He worried that her readers, who don't know him, might think him homophobic. She countered by insisting that she had a right to say whatever she wanted. In retrospect, she believes now that she had no right to "make her self-expression public in a permanent way." Her unhealthy relationship with the Internet vacuumed her life; she conversed predominantly on AIM and expressed herself predominantly on Gawker's website. Her off-line life became emptier and emptier as she sought gratification from people she didn't know at the expense of those she loved (her words). Her blog became a tinderbox; it really was only a matter of time before someone she had written about called her on it. That person was a colleague with whom she had had an affair and about whose indiscretions she had written on the romance-themed blog she co-wrote with her best friend. The colleague asked her to remove the posts. She offered to make them password-protected. He scolded her, "You should be password-protected." Eventually, fortunately for her, she came to understand that her job, which required her to scorn innocent people, had backfired. She called this reversal of fortune her "karmic comeuppance." Not only did she feel isolated and guilty and probably a bit silly, but she herself was scorned and ridiculed. Her article in the New York Times generated over one thousand comments, many of them derogatory. Many of the commenters called her "vacuous" or "self-absorbed." People decried the Times for publishing such an un-newsworthy story. The author expected this reaction, yet she insists that she was willing to reveal her vulnerability. The conclusion of her article proves its worthiness. After describing and analyzing her breakup, her affair with her colleague, and her decision to leave her job, she ends by clarifying her current thinking about blogging. She could, she admits, remove the posts that make her look bad, but each entry is indispensable to a true, comprehensive story--a story of one hour or of one day or of one year. Although it pains her, she has chosen not to delete some entries and comments that are unflattering to her. And, yes, she still overshares, though not so much anymore; she keeps certain details to herself now. Doing so makes her "feel protected," as if her "thoughts might actually be worth honing rather than spewing." This opinion--that it can behoove us to filter our thoughts--encapsulates the article. When we've been hurt or misjudged or misunderstood, we often spring to defend ourselves or to discredit those who've offended us. Our initial perspective may be skewed by hurt feelings; when possible, it may be wise to calm down and think about what we SHOULD say before expressing ourselves. In the same vein, when we're happy, we often gush about it. Love and sex and romance make us happy, and sometimes we're just bursting to talk about those topics. It's fine to share our beliefs and (some) of our experiences with intimacy, but we shouldn't go too far, for many reasons. Most importantly, intimate activities are intimate for good reason. We really should be careful not to invite people into something they shouldn't be part of. On a side note, I think that sex is discussed too casually and too often. Anyone who wants to participate in the discussion needs to have something to say and can be tempted to get first-hand experience. I've been entangled in many a conversation about it, mostly when I was younger, and I felt pressured to have something to say besides my general convictions about the topic. Let me get back to my point: "honesty" does not necessitate "spewing every thought and idea and notion and opinion." Sometimes we just need to filter ourselves, and our initial way of thinking about a matter may be just that--a starting point from which more informed or rational or mature thinking may evolve. The author's defense of that principle, as I said, made the article worthy in my opinion. She presented and illustrated other great points, about seeking validation and approval and comfort from loved ones rather than people you don't know (or people who aren't very nice anyway), about maintaining grace and dignity when your misdeeds have been publicly disinterred, about loyalty, about the Golden Rule. This story has no relevance to the war or the weakening economy or disease or poverty or any other earth-shattering matter, but the author's experiences and her reflections on them speak to our shared human condition. Therefore, I consider her story important, relevant, and even encouraging. The excellent points she makes can't be reaffirmed often enough.
Naturally, this article made me think about my long-neglected journal. I stopped writing in my journal for two main reasons. First of all, unlike the author, I could never present myself as completely and purely as I wanted. The author wrote in her journal often, too often, but I wrote rarely. I'd post and entry that I'd later consider inaccurate and undeveloped. But, I never updated or added to the entries; I just deleted them or berated myself for thinking and writing what I had. Second, also unlike the author, I balk at uncovering my own imperfection. The author was a glutton for punishment; she knowingly presented herself unfavorably, and even now, after she's been mocked as a vacuous, overpaid, underworked, navel-gazer, she's still willing to try to tell the unpleasant truth about herself. When I used to write here, I wanted to make myself look honorable, exalting myself and my own opinions. Over the last few years, I've become more forgiving--of myself and of others, and I think that now I can unvarnish myself a bit. (Unvarnish is not a word, but bear with me.) The author articulated a principle that has become very important to me: telling the plain truth about yourself, or trying to, can benefit you and your audience. There's no need to make yourself look like a hero, a victim, or a martyr, but writing humbly about your efforts to be a good person and your missteps along the way might help someone. And that possibility can outweigh the risk of looking bad. So, I think I'll try to write in this journal more often, for the reason I just told you and for a few others.
Naturally, this article made me think about my long-neglected journal. I stopped writing in my journal for two main reasons. First of all, unlike the author, I could never present myself as completely and purely as I wanted. The author wrote in her journal often, too often, but I wrote rarely. I'd post and entry that I'd later consider inaccurate and undeveloped. But, I never updated or added to the entries; I just deleted them or berated myself for thinking and writing what I had. Second, also unlike the author, I balk at uncovering my own imperfection. The author was a glutton for punishment; she knowingly presented herself unfavorably, and even now, after she's been mocked as a vacuous, overpaid, underworked, navel-gazer, she's still willing to try to tell the unpleasant truth about herself. When I used to write here, I wanted to make myself look honorable, exalting myself and my own opinions. Over the last few years, I've become more forgiving--of myself and of others, and I think that now I can unvarnish myself a bit. (Unvarnish is not a word, but bear with me.) The author articulated a principle that has become very important to me: telling the plain truth about yourself, or trying to, can benefit you and your audience. There's no need to make yourself look like a hero, a victim, or a martyr, but writing humbly about your efforts to be a good person and your missteps along the way might help someone. And that possibility can outweigh the risk of looking bad. So, I think I'll try to write in this journal more often, for the reason I just told you and for a few others.