The notion of honesty, on and offline
At a dinner party the other night, I blushed when my boyfriend and a close friend discussed a blog post that I’d written. It was a strange collision of two separate worlds, the intersection between the life that I live every day and the ways that I share it. It’s always bizarre to hear people I know so intimately discuss the words that I’ve written in my own mind, poured out onto a page in a quiet moment by myself.
Somehow, it bothers me less knowing that strangers are reading my words; that these people who I’ve never met are able to connect with my hopes and dreams, that my fears and struggles resonate with people who only know me through my words. This little corner of the internet has been a place where I’ve been able to simultaneously bare my soul while deliberately choosing what to share.
Real life is a little messier. There are varying degrees of intimacy in my relationships: friends who know every dirty detail of my adolescence and complicated family back stories, ones who have heard a story or two over a glass of wine, others who were right alongside me for every step of the way. Intimacy is built by sharing our stories, by letting people into our memories and our minds and our bodies. You’re not always able to control the situation, to choose whether to click “publish.”
I’ve always been more comfortable putting words to a page, in opening up my heart when I have time to deliberate over my thoughts. I have a tendency to find the right words after the moment has passed, often unable to articulate my feelings in conversation. I like writing letters and scribbling notes, preserving memories in diary entries and photo albums.
There’s a certain disconnect in what I write here. For as much of my life as I overtly share here, there are oblique mentions and personal references, little details that remind me of a sideways glance or a shared bottle of wine. As much as I write for other people, much of what I write is for myself: a way to remember the places I’ve been, the things that I’ve felt, the experiences I’ve had and a way to capture this small slice of my life.
It’s made me wonder about the notion of honesty, about whether I’m betraying my real-life relationships by sharing them here. I’ve been blogging for almost four years now, and it’s been quite a journey: France, Australia, Southeast Asia, New York City. I’ve arrived in cities quite alone but ready for adventure, and departed surrounded by friends and steeped in memories. This blog is the collection of all of those experiences, a reflection on those relationships.
I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. Perhaps one day, I’ll look back on these days and think about how foolish I was for laying my heart for all to read–or else, perhaps, I’ll be delighted in reliving this era of being young and impulsive, adventurous and free.
