When you tend to write about your real life, you are constantly asking yourself the question, “is that too real?” Deciding what to share is a daily battle between a proud, authentic self, and a calculated and logical side that is always looking out for the future.
The conversation goes a little something like this:
Immediate Term: “Is this something I can say out loud?”
Short Term: “Do I want my mom to read this?” (because she will read it)
Longer Term: “Do I want my kids to one day read this?”
Longest Term: “Should this be my legacy?”
Now, I’ll be the first to admit, that is a lot of pressure to put on a singular piece about a past heartbreak or a current obsession. But it doesn’t matter. Each personal essay, or think piece, or yes, even listical, leaves me momentarily drained. I am not able to write without feeling. I cannot turn in a piece that I just feel “eh” about. Maybe if I could, I’d be more productive.
I know this about me. But that’s not it. That’s not why I think and re-think before hitting that “Publish” button. The thing is, you can’t un-ring that bell. Once it out there, it’s like a middle-school nickname or a scar from that time you fell out of the tree you weren’t supposed to be climbing. It will always.be.there.
If writing is a catharsis, then this line of thinking is in direct opposition of that aim. How can a massage be relaxing if at the same time you’re furiously typing away on your iPhone? Yet in this cultural moment, it’s hard to unplug when technology feels like our lifeline. Apps add convenience to every day drudgery, but we perceive it as necessary. How did the Pilgrims live?!?
How do we prevent living online from killing our life? Bravery is a choice.
(Image Via Verdin )