Dimensions and Dementia

It's alarming, sometimes, to see how strongly people react to situations they know so little about, how quickly they take sides, or assume they have all the information when in fact, any reasonable person should be able to step back and realize they have very very little. And I imagine there was a time when I was very guilty of it myself, back when I was an avid reader of others' journals. And perhaps it's a mistake I'll make again from time to time. But the truth is that, as I've pointed out many times to many people, when you read about someone's life all you get is a series of tiny snapshots, tiny moments in time and mood, and even then only blurry, biased pictures at that, tainted by mood, vocabulary, and even your own motives as a reader.

Some time back, when I was having a particularly bad day, I wrote "Full Disclosure and $15,000". I didn't bother to explain what I meant by $15,000, because it was irrelevant: I've never expected the money, but rather, it was merely symbolic of a particular time and conversation - a reference that only the other person in that conversation would truly understand, assuming she remembered (and even more ironic if she didn't). People have read it and completely misunderstood, and yet I find I'm not inclined to explain it. Why not? Two reasons.

Firstly, it was an angry, knee-jerk reaction to a situation that simply brought about a sort of temper-tantrum rant. I admitted as much in the piece itself. It was about a time and place in my past, and one I long ago put behind me, but which on that particular day I'd gotten annoyed sufficiently about for it to resurface (but which I don't expect will ever happen again, having had time to mull it over since).

And secondly...

If you're only a reader, not someone who knows me personally, you don't know me, and reading my journal or my blog won't somehow let you know and understand me. It's a tiny fragment, a single piece in a very large puzzle. One more tiny fragment isn't going to help any, it's just going to delude you further into thinking you've arrived at the truth, when it's probably more distant than you imagine.

If you're the type that is content to pass judgment on me based on that tiny fragment, or based on the few comments I occassionally share, and often as an outlet for the worst or most confused of moods... well then feel free, because I think that says far more about the kind of person you are than it does about me.

I used to journal and blog because I was looking for understanding and acceptance, but I've long since discovered that's about as worthwhile as mumbling under your breath in a very large and dark cave in the hopes of being heard.

I journal now to express myself creatively, to help me sort through my own thoughts, or to share something I found interesting or clever.

I have the approval of those closest friends who truly do know me, and more importantly, of the person whose approval matters most: I have the approval of myself.

I don't require it of my readers.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to phone a friend that I miss for a chat, confirm my supper plans with my girlfriend, try to nuture a damaged plant back to life, and maybe take in some of this beautiful sunshine we're having today.

Because experiencing life is a lot more fun than reading or writing about it.