It’s funny, but I feel like the longer I blog, the worse at it I get. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve covered all the things I feel certain about, if I feel more like keeping more of my private self private, I don’t know. But I look back on old posts and I see a kind of fearless reckless certainty I just don’t feel any more.
One of the things I’ve thought is true is that an idea is separate from a person, that you can disagree with an idea, argue with it, bend it, twist it, whatever, and it’s not about the person. I’ve come to see that, though it would be nice if this were true, there are a lot of people who will take something you’ve written and twist it and bend it and try to get at in in a bunch of different ways just for the express purpose of getting at you–of trying to make you feel exposed and vulnerable.
All night, I dreamed of being chased by a serial killer who wore like a cross between a motorcycle helmet and one of those old timey deep sea diving round things. And in the dream, it was easy to distract him with other people to kill, but he was always also still coming after me. I was not actually saving myself. I was just buying time.
There is a way of blogging about people for the express purpose of getting at them, of trying to make them feel vulnerable and exposed, that I have defended, especially when I thought they behaved in ways that made them “deserve” it. And there are ways of blogging about people not so that you have to leave them vulnerable and exposed, but so you leave it to others to do so.
I don’t know.
I don’t feel certain about much any more. If this year has taught me anything, it’s that. That my feelings of certainty were almost always wrong. I don’t mean that in a negative way. Being certain has served me well.
And lord knows, I don’t want to be frozen from making decisions by uncertainty.
But I am certainly being humbled by the power of uncertainty lately.
And what a terrible time for it to happen! Ha.