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November 17, 2004
The shy exhibitionist rambles
As I’m walking home down 13th street tonight, Guy Chillin’ Outside Pizza Place* checks me out (in my oh-so-provocative outfit of loose black suit pants, puffy down jacket and wool scarf, no less) and says, “Hell-Oh – Aaand I’m not gonna say anything else, ‘cause I see that engagement ring on your finger, baby.”
I didn’t turn around or anything, just kept walking, which is my standard response to catcalls and other street attention – though I always wish I had some snappy, Lorelai-like witty response with which to disarm the fellow, and usually spend the next block crafting the perfect retort and replaying the incident in my head, only to then be further annoyed that I’ve wasted more time even thinking about it at all. But this time, instead of mulling over my missed comeback opportunity, I found myself thinking about this whole engagement thing.
For one thing, it’s kind of funny that this dude on 13th street spotted my ring straight away, when some of my close coworkers haven’t noticed it yet. I’ve been shy about bringing it to people’s attention, because these are people who already know I’m engaged (the engagement came a couple months before the ring), so it’s not like I have actual news to share – just a shiny (and gorgeous) new Symbol. Because of that, telling people feels less like spreading interesting information and more like… bragging, or something.
I’m never sure how much of myself to divulge to people, and I think I err on the shy side of keeping most things private. Which is another thing I was thinking about on the walk home tonight. Because a web site is by its very nature public, and I’m not sure I’ve worked out the pros and cons of how much personal stuff to post.
Back at my first web site, I jumped right in and, assuming that only a few people at my college would be reading it, put up whatever I felt like. I was also in a sort of experimental exhibitionistic phase in college, like I think a lot of people are around that time. You know, I did things like get naked on the playground with my boyfriend, and perform poems about fucking at a poetry slam, and hold a spontaneous kiss-in with a bunch of friends while standing on top of a table in the dining hall. Sigh. I have pictures of myself from those days wearing an outfit that consisted of little more than red fishnets and some strategically places shreds of red fabric. Rest assured I will never post them here.
Even then, it’s not like I wasn’t ambivalent about some of my web-related sharing. But I was more willing to go ahead and do it anyway. Now I tend to talk myself out of everything. Even things that aren’t at all personal or embarrassing: just things that I worry are somehow self-indulgent or self-important.
Because, like, isn’t the whole concept of having your own web site making this awful assumption that you have something super important and unique to add to the world? It’s intimidating, especially given the way the world of blogs has evolved since I had an active web site in 1999 and 2000. Like, what do I have to say that hasn't already been said 40 times earlier today, and better, by somebody with better design capabilities, to boot?
But the point, I think, is that each of us does have something unique to say, if we’re willing to do the work of figuring out what it is and saying it. I’ve been reading a lot of Studs Terkel recently, and what I find amazing about his work is the way it showcases the wisdom and intelligence and thought processes of so many “regular” people. What I learn, again and again, reading his books, is that we are all “regular.” Growing up, as most children and adolescents do, I always felt somehow special. Like fame and fortune were mine by rights, and the Universe would any second swoop down and bestow them upon me. You know, earnestly performing commercials in the mirror, writing my angst-ridden poetry. All the standards.
And it has only been as a function of becoming an adult that I’ve realized on a sort of gut level – because I think I’ve theoretically known it for longer – that I’m no more special than the next guy. But the thing is, that’s not a bad thing. Because the next guy, just by virtue of being an individual, is pretty damn special. Just not in the fame-and-fortune way. More in the nobody-will-ever-see-through-my-eyes way.
So that’s the point of this whole ramble, I guess. It’s the explication, the justification, the pre-emptive apology to the people I know who think blogs are kinda silly and self indulgent (which I’m not necessarily disputing).
And now? It’s time to go. Patrick needs his computer back. Mine’s ill – that’s a whole other privacy dilemma. If you pay someone to recover the files on your computer, and there are some… er… embarrassing files on it (like, say, from your college days, perhaps)… there’s just no getting around that, is there? Thoughts?
* I’m not sure why I felt the need to capitalize that little title, though the acronym it would make, G-COPP, comes out sorta nice. Sadly his acronym was not needed again in the brief story, so my acronymtastic powers are moot for the time being.
Posted by sarah at November 17, 2004 11:46 PM
