Kitchen Wench

I used to say that there was very little good that could come out of a Livejournal (or similar service). Indeed, most of my dealings with personal diaries have not ended well. Yet, I have to admit that I find certain ones utterly fascinating to read. I don’t mean those blogs where people write about current events or politics or sports. That’s actually relevant and maybe even informative, but what I like is that semi and/or pseudo-intellectual emotional garbage people shit out of their left ear. You know, where the author tries to get all deep and stuff about some (usually) mundane experience. Let me qualify that: Sometimes a journal entry is a window into the way a person thinks or views the world, or how they view themselves. Maybe you can draw some insight into “who I am” by reading this, I don’t know. But I think it’s fascinating to consider the way a person perceives themselves versus how you or other people perceive them.

This can be dangerous in that I don’t think people should be judged by the sum of their diary scribblings or online profile. One because it’s a one-dimensional representation, and two because often people misconstrue what they read without vocal or physical cues that tell you someone is being sarcastic, playful, etc. But, I can’t help feeling that there’s something to be said about writing as a means of expression. It has such a confessional quality about it. It’s partly why I find myself continually drawn to it.

People are ultimately looking to figure out who they are and how they fit into society. Often, it’s difficult or socially inappropriate to say the really tough things. You ask me how I am, I’ll tell you I’m good, even when I’m not. Unless you’re a good friend, I’m not going to get into the details of my personal life, if I even go that far. It’s all a matter of degrees, but I can’t help but feel like people usually want to tell… somebody, or just get it out, somehow. The online diary is perfect for this; your declaration is made in privacy, a contract between you and your keyboard, yet the message still goes out there for someone to read or hear. There are people who say that they don’t think others should be reading their diary, that it’s private, but the internet isn’t private. (If you really didn’t want anybody to read it, then you should have written it on a piece of paper, made it a private entry, or saved a document to your hard drive. Nobody is holding a gun to your head.)

Personally, I think of the whole thing as a kind of puzzle, particularly when it’s a journal of someone I don’t know that well; I can collect little bits and pieces to help get a better sense of this person. Is this person someone I’d like to know better? Are they anything like me, or totally different from anyone I’ve ever met? I also find myself taking strange pleasure in my “secret”–I’m reading their journal and they don’t even know, shh! I get a little thrill, like I’m spying, except it’s really just posted on a public website that I happened to find a link to. Alternatively, the musings of your best friend can also be revealing in a completely different way. After all, how well do we really know each other? It may turn out that your friend doesn’t tell you “everything” anymore, or maybe s/he never did. Sometimes it’s enough just to hear something in their own words. It’s a way of reaching out, and, after digging through a lot of the emotional rubbish, you might be able to find a thread of common experience or interest. Maybe that’s the heart of it: sometimes we just need to hear someone else to remind ourselves of who we are.